


We Are The Jack O'Lanterns In July

by OrianDCate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Demon Deals, Demon Summoning, Demons, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Horcruxes, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Multi, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Post-Season/Series 09, The Colt (Supernatural), The Deathly Hallows, The First Blade (Supernatural), Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrianDCate/pseuds/OrianDCate
Summary: Harry Potter goes to bed on July 31st...and wakes up on August 1st with thirty years of memories from Dean Winchester, and something very dangerous still attached to his arm. Harry now knows exactly what's coming...and what to do about it.Inspired by Rorschach's Blot's series "Halloween Echoes", but with one major twist at the beginning, and many more to come.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Nymphadora Tonks, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 118





	1. Boogeyman, Won't You Come For Me

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_"You are a brick tied to me that's dragging me down,_

_Strike a match and I'll burn you down to the ground._

_We are the jack o'lanterns in July,_

_Setting fire to the sky_

_Here, here comes this rising tide, so come on;_

_Put on your war paint!"_

_\- "The Phoenix", Fall Out Boy_

* * *

1) BOOGEYMAN, WON'T YOU COME FOR ME

His eyes flew open.

The ceiling was the wrong color.

No, wait…right color. Wrong ceiling. Looked like things were back to normal, then.

A flash of pain stabbed through his arm.

Well, almost normal.

He ran his fingers over the burned skin. He didn’t need to be able to see to know what he’d brought back with him from the other side. So, the Mark could cross worlds. Would’ve been nice to know beforehand. Then again, it’s not like it would’ve changed anything. It wasn’t exactly like he’d planned things this way.

He hissed as the headache he’d woken up with intensified. Integrating two separate sets of memories into one brain tended to have that effect.

The pain receded just enough for him to resume his earlier train of thought. So, he had the Mark. Did that mean his host had lost it? He certainly hoped so; guy had enough on his plate as it was. And having two Marks running around loose wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. On the bright side, he was pretty darn sure there wasn’t a First Blade in this reality; meant the odds of him becoming a psychotic murderer were a whole lot lower. Unless of course the Elder Wand counted as this reality’s version. Or the whole “becoming a demon” thing happened on its own if you got killed. Something that looked increasingly likely considering what he’d learned.

He frowned. What exactly _had_ he learned?

The prophecy…the Department of Mysteries…Umbridge…Sirius…

He sucked in his breath and held on for dear life as the new memories burned their way through his mind. That settled it; next time he saw Crowley, he was _definitely_ shanking the dude. Not killing him; much as he hated to admit it, they still needed the smug bastard. Or, at least, his host’s family did.

As if his life wasn’t confusing enough already.

First things first. Although not necessarily in that order.

A psychotic killer he might not be, but one doesn’t spend any amount of time in a hunter’s head without picking up at least some new morals. Morals that would finally allow his conscience to permit what he’d been dreaming of for as long as he could remember.

He slowly forced himself out of the bed and onto his feet. If there’s one thing the Dursleys failed to count on, it was him waking up with the knowledge of how to pick locks….

His first stop was the kitchen. Deboning knife was good for slicing, not so much for stabbing. He needed something multipurpose. Paring knife would work well enough for now…after he took care of business, he’d grab a few things from the garage.

He crept back up the stairs, making sure to stomp a few times on the squeaky board in the middle. The one Vernon had explicitly stated would get him killed if he did it again.

Sure enough, he could hear the tub of lard clomping his direction from the opposite end of the hallway. Now, to wait for him to pass the bathroom, and then…

SHUNK.

From behind, through the windpipe and artery. Not clean, but quiet. Now, for the giraffe…

Same thing for her, only from the front. He left her body still tangled up in the sheets…it wasn’t like he’d be needing to move it. The whale, he’d leave for later if Plan A failed. Down to the garage, and then to the garden tools. No machete, unfortunately, but he supposed the brush axe was just as good. Gave him a bit more leverage, too; something he was desperately in need of considering just how much weaker he was than his host had been.

Now, where did Vernon stash all those propane tanks for his new gas grill…

He’d forgotten just how heavy those things were. And how very hard it was to move them quietly. He’d dropped one on his foot and had to cover his mouth to keep from swearing. The longer the beast upstairs stayed asleep, the better. But in the end, he’d gotten all of them set up in a line from the front door to the gas water heater. Chain reaction. At least, he hoped that was what would happen.

And to set it off…Vernon still had those things from Petunia’s dad, didn’t he? Things that should’ve been his, considering he was the only one with any reason to use them. Yep, still hidden in the closet. One German officer’s dagger (not a Bowie or Sykes and Fairbairn, but it would do), and one German 8mm Mauser with sniper scope. Much better than those stupid Lee-Enfields in .303, anyways. Germans always made the best stuff.

Wand, check. Invisibility Cloak, check (he was _definitely_ being more careful with the thing now that he knew what it actually was. And why Dumbledore had kept it). Broom, hell no. He already knew for a fact the chances of him getting to play Quidditch this year were slim to none, and added on top of that his newly acquired fear of heights (thanks a lot), he had more important things to worry about. Such as packing light enough to actually walk around. The rifle was pushing things, but sometimes you just needed something a little more precise than a wand at long range. The trunk, he was leaving; the books in it could all be replaced. Hedwig’s cage...as much as he’d like to be sentimental, now wasn’t the time.

“Sorry, old girl. But this whole place is on my list, and I gotta make things look convincing. Head to London; I’ll be waiting at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. If I’m not, Sirius’ll take care of you. Don’t let anyone else come near you; my list of people I trust is getting incredibly short.”

Hedwig looked at him, hooted once softly, and then took off through the open window.

Now, for the grand finale.

He paused at the back door just long enough to whisper back into the darkened house, “I do not consider this place my home”.

To his utter amazement, he could actually _feel_ the magic disintegrating. Huh. Looked like luck was on the whale’s side tonight. That is, if he survived what was coming.

Doing his best not to clank, he crept through what little cover he could find, until he found a good enough spot to set up and watch the front of the house. With a perfect shot on the first propane tank.

No sooner had he settled the rifle into place than he heard the distinctive ‘pop’ of Apparition. Now, to see if they were Order or Death Eaters…

Never mind. It was both. He’d recognize that greasy black hair anywhere.

Oh, he was gonna enjoy this.

Shame the bastard was alone; he wouldn’t have minded getting either Fletcher or another Death Wanker with him. But as the Man in Black used to say, “Get used to disappointment”.

Any doubts he’d had about letting the man live in favor of waiting for more people to show evaporated the second he used a Reducto on the front door. Great, now all that hard work he’d put into making sure he wouldn’t be written up for underage magic was wasted. It had been personal before, but now it was just good business.

“Give my regards to Crowley, Snivellus.”

BANG!

KABLOOM!

Chain reaction.

He took it back; luck was most definitely _not_ on the whale’s side tonight.

He slung the rifle up on his shoulder, and stuck out his wand.

SCREEEEEEE!

“Where to, Mr. Potter?”

“Grimmauld Place, Stan. And here’s some spare change in case you have any Butterbeer laying around.”

“I think Ernie’s got some in the back. But you probably shouldn’t be drinking it while we’re driving.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

He’d rather drink the good stuff, anyway. He just wanted to find out if there were alternative, legally acquirable ways to make some Molotov cocktails.

About three bangs and two minutes later, they arrived.

Huh. Turns out reading the Secret in a book totally counted for the spell.

He marched up to the front door of Number Twelve, and knocked four times.

The door swung open to reveal…

“Hiya Tonks.”

“HARRY! What in Merlin’s name are you doing here? And _how_ in Merlin’s name did you know about it?”

“I’ve got Sirius for a dog-father, Tonks. Figure it out. Also, I should probably point out that’s not the only Secret he’s told me, if you know what I mean. So, are you gonna let me in, or are you gonna try and send me back to the now flambeed remains of my summer prison?”

“Flambeed? What…?”

“Whaddya think, Tonks. Death Eaters. So much for a nice, quiet summer.”

“…You better come in, then. Dumbledore just called an emergency meeting. Probably about you.”

He snorted. “I’ll bet he did. About ten minutes too late. Typical Dumbledore. Lead on, oh buxom and bodacious Auror.”

“Call me that again, Harry, and I’ll be forced to do something incredibly unpleasant to you.”

“As you wish.”

“How’d you know my name, anyway? Don’t think we’ve ever been introduced…”

“Like I said, figure it out. Might as well call me a Lannister; I drink, and I know things.”

Tonks’ eyes lit up. “Drinking underage already, eh Harry? I’ll bet Sirius’ll be happy to hear that.”

“Probably. But I don’t plan on telling him ‘til I know for a fact I can drink him under the table. Easy way to sucker him into a bet.”

Tonks laughed. “That’ll teach the old dog.” She gave him a calculating look. “You’re not at all what I expected, Harry.”

“So everybody tells me.”

The door swung open to reveal practically the entirety of the Order, with Dumbledore seated at the head of the table. Practically every eye in the room tracked him as he casually swaggered down to the opposite end, plonked his rifle down on the table, and then sat in the only remaining empty chair. Probably Tonks’; he’d make it up to her later.

Dumbledore’s voice seemed to fill the entire room. “…Would you mind telling us exactly how you found this place, Harry? And why it is you’re now carrying Muggle firearms?”

“Why yes, yes I would.”

Nobody said anything as he pulled out his new-old dagger and began cleaning it. He’d already cleaned the paring knife beforehand; no sense in drawing attention to _that._

“…Harry, I really must insist.”

“Insist away. I ain’t telling you crap. And before you get any ideas about reading my mind, I’ve already taken care of that particular problem. Seeing things through Moldy-short’s eyes was a great motivator to learn.”

“…And just what did you see through Voldemort’s eyes, Harry.”

“Oh, lots of things. Like your pet Death Eater not only giving up the location of my _home,_ but the location of this cozy little shack as well. Shame he’s never gonna get the chance to pass on anything else.”

The room erupted at his declaration. Sure, it was a lie, but it wasn’t like there was a chance in Hell of him ever telling them the truth.

The chaos abruptly ceased when Dumbledore let off a cannon blast from his wand. “For the last time, Harry. What. Have you. _Done.”_

“Nothing much; just cleared out before all those pesky Death Eaters descended. Oh, and stuck around long enough to see Voldemort express his extreme displeasure with Snivellus that I wasn’t in. Which reminds me; I’ll probably be getting another rigged accusation of underage magic soon, so I should probably be looking into some lawyers. Maybe Ted Tonks…”

As his sentence trailed off, he finally noticed exactly why he hadn’t referred to it as the whole Order in his head. Fletcher was missing. And even more worryingly, so was Sirius. If that miserable mango monkey in a beard had done anything to him…

Dumbledore visually relaxed. “Yes, I believe Ted Tonks would be suitable. So long as you didn’t use any magic to defend yourself…”

“I didn’t use any magic…”

Dumbledore smiled. “Then I believe the matter will be easily resolved.”

He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t finished. As I was saying, I didn’t use any magic to fight. I did, however, use this here beauty.” He patted the Mauser. “As well as a couple other things.”

Dumbledore’s face turned gray. “Harry. Please tell me you haven’t killed someone.”

“Someone? No. Some three? Definitely.”

Everyone’s breath seemed to catch in their throat.

“Relax; Voldemort had his minions haul off the bodies afterwards, so its not like they can charge me in court. And it was the least I could do, considering what the did to my relatives.”

More lies. Yet another moral he’d picked up from his host. Whether that was good or not, he’d have to wait and see.

Molly Weasley opened her mouth (probably to berate Harry and everyone responsible for watching him)…

And then fell silent as Sirius Black stormed into the room.

Well, that answered one question.

“Fletcher’s dead. Seems he was killed in his sleep. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Albus.”

Aaaaaaaand that answered the other.

Dumbledore paled even further. “Anyone else?”

Sirius smirked. “Place was on fire when I got there; only other body I could find was the rather unrecognizable form of your ex-Potions Master.”

A voice Harry couldn’t place piped up. “If he was unrecognizable, how’d you know it was him?”

Sirius scoffed. “Who else do you know that would die with a sneer on their face, even as they’re being burned alive? Seems someone threw him directly into the fire, and he somehow managed to crawl halfway out again before he finally kicked the bucket. No great loss. But there’s fixing to be one, if someone doesn’t tell me where Harry is, _right bloody now.”_

He couldn’t resist. “How bout I show you instead, Padfoot?”

“HARRY!”

“Padfoot, I swear to Merlin, if you make this a chick flick moment…”

Sirius swaggered over and draped his arm over the back of Harry’s chair. “Now why would a such a manly being as I ever consider such an act?”

“I’d rather not answer that question. Now, would you mind telling this lot to clear out? Seeing as how this emergency meeting isn’t actually about an emergency anymore?”

Sirius shrugged. “You heard the Cub; clear out!”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Now Sirius…”

“NOW! Don’t think I’m under any misapprehensions about exactly how Harry got here, and why he had to do everything under his own power, _again._ One of you lot stands up to old Moldy-shorts three times and survives, then I’ll consider taking your _orders_ over his.”

In the end, the only four people left in the room were Harry, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore. With one last look that was probably supposed to be threatening, Albus came as close to stomping out of the room as he was physically able.

Remus sighed. “Harry, you have to realize…”

“That apparently outside of Sirius, Hagrid, maybe Tonks, and myself, no one has my best interests at heart? Damn straight.”

Remus didn’t stop. “Harry, your friends…”

“I’m sorry, my what now? Did you mean the two individuals that I assume you’re referring to who decided to dump me on Dumbledore’s orders? Or were you talking about yourself, the person who took Dumbledore’s word as gospel and never so much as checked on me once in eleven years?”

This time, Remus did stop.

“…Thought so. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe Sirius and I have some catching up to do.”

And with that, he swung his rifle back up off the table, and stalked out, leaving the werewolf to stew in his own thoughts.

“…Why’d you have to go and say that to Moony, Cub?”

“Because the sooner her gets his head out of his ass and stops feeling sorry for himself, the sooner he’ll realize that Dumbledore’s been playing him since his first year at Hogwarts. Or did you never notice how Hogwarts’ got its very first werewolf student just as the Dark were starting their creature recruitment campaigns?”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Now, if wouldn’t mind, there’s quite a lot of research I need to do, and since I apparently can’t count on Hermione for that anymore, its gonna take forever. In the meantime, if you wouldn’t mind giving Ted Tonks a Floo, I’d appreciate it.”

“Ted? What on earth would you need a lawyer for?”

He slapped his forehead. “Right; you missed that bit. Apparently, old Voldy decided it would be just fine and dandy to do magic right on my front lawn.”

Sirius’ face twisted into an expression of hard thinking. “…Underage magic laws?”

“Ding, ding, ding.”

“I’ll get right on it, pup.”

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“Name it.”

“Know anywhere I can get a tattoo? Found one that’ll keep the Dork Lard, or pretty much anything else, from possessing me.”

“…You want a tattoo.”

“Yup.”

“You, as in, my godson, Harry Potter, wants a tattoo.”

“Well, more need than want, but…”

Sirius pumped his fist in the air. “MY GODSON IS SO MANLY!”

“…Are you done yet?”

“…Yeah, okay, I’m done. Tattoo’s easy; can do it myself. Did it enough back in my Marauder days; was a good way to make some coin off the bad boys in school. I’ll call Ted, then grab what we need.”

“We?”

“You didn’t think I was gonna let my godson get a life-saving tattoo all by himself, did you?”

“Fair point. I’ll be in the library, reading.”

“Got it. Oh, and try and stay away from the books on the top left shelf. Some of ‘em can and will cause you serious hurt.”

“To my body, or my soul?”

Sirius shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

He absent-mindedly dug his fingers into the Mark. “You’d be surprised. You know what, forget I asked. I’ll just avoid all of ‘em.”

“Good. Back soon.”

He watched the form of his dog-father bound away, and then turned back to the library door with a sigh. “As if I didn’t have to do enough of this on the other side…”


	2. Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

2) EVERYBODY WANTS TO GO TO HEAVEN

_ Accompanying Song: "Reaper", by Silverberg _

The very first thing he did was haul out any and all books that contained so much as a footnote about the Trace. He may not be forced to defend himself this time round, but damned if he wasn’t gonna find each and every way he could to wiggle around that stupid blasted annoyance.

Once he’d done that, he settled down to actually go looking through his newfound material for said ways. The Black library being the Black library, his search took him a grand total of half-an-hour to actually complete. As he’d thought; Muggle neighborhoods were the target, not the actual wands sold to students. Made things blasted difficult for anyone who wasn’t a Pureblood, all things considered. And even if some random tosser was caught “defending himself against some bloodthirsty Muggles”, student or not, all it would take was a few bribes and the bugger would be off scott free.

That the Blacks had kept a list of the best people to go to for said bribes tucked between the pages of one of his unearthed references was more than he could’ve hoped for. Sure, it was probably outdated, but at the very least, it gave him somewhere to start if his lawyer couldn’t find a way to get him off legally.

Still, it was always a good idea to test things before actually relying on them for the real thing. He held his wand out in his palm, and softly whispered “Point Me West.”

Slowly, his wand spun to orient itself in the indicated direction.

Too slowly.

He sighed. He’d been afraid of that; his wand wasn’t really attuned to him anymore. Whether that was more the fault of the Mark, or just having nearly thirty years of somebody else’s life jammed inside his head, he didn’t know. And he really didn’t care to find out; the end result was the same. Looked like he was gonna have to add a trip to Ollivander’s to his Diagon Alley “To Do” list. And who knows? Maybe all those online quizzes his host had taken on “Which Harry Potter Character’s Wand Would You Wield?” would pay off, if his new wand materials gave any indication about the cause of his problem one way or the other.

It probably would’ve been a good idea to grab a second wand anyway; the phoenix feather one to keep old Voldemort locked in place, and the other one to actually nail the bastard. Not to mention he probably needed to tell Ollivander about the Prior Incanteum; the less the Dork Lard could wring from him about the Elder Wand, the better.

That matter settled, he turned his attention to something almost, if not just as, important: magical contracts. Occlumency was all well and good, til someone let something slip after one too many drinks. Of whiskey, or Veritaserum; take your pick. Outcome was the same either way. If he could dig up a good enough contract outline, then maybe, just maybe, he might actually be able to let other people besides Sirius in on some of what he now knew. Hermione was a possible; Ron was not. Tonks, maybe…depended on what Mad-Eye’s opinion was on Dumbledore. Whatever it was, odds were he’d passed it on to his latest apprentice. Luna was a definite; odds of anyone ever taking something she said seriously were pretty much zero, not to mention the pain they’d be in for if anyone got the bright idea to go poking around in her mind. Neville, possible. Mad-Eye himself, also possible. Remus, no; Albus, no; Fred and George, big, big, “if”. They did owe him for their shop, after all. It depended on how loyal they were to the rest of their family.

Bingo; jackpot. He began copying the contract down on some parchment he’d pulled off the shelf. Man, but he loved the Blacks. Well, some of them, anyway.

Which reminded him, he really needed to do something about that crappy shouting picture. And said crazy lady’s House Elf. If Kreacher didn’t come around to his way of thinking after he took care of the Locket, then he was gonna go with Sirius’ suggestion to add him to the Display Wall. Permanently.

Continuing his train of thought on House Elves, he should probably see if he could call on Dobby. Where nobody else was liable to notice him, of course. Just because he was a Win…A Potter, didn’t mean he couldn’t be sneaky. Damn, but it was gonna be awhile before he stopped doing that.

Right; Dobby. There were quite a few things he needed to grab in Knockturn Alley, and having a fanatically loyal House Elf on call would be awesome. Especially if he introduced the little guy to blunt weaponry. He got the feeling that if he offered Dobby the opportunity to remove a pair of rather important somethings from his last master using a rusty mace, the Elf would probably swear undying fealty or something like that.

One more thing that spending any amount of time in a hunter’s head also tended to do was grant an excellent sense of when you were being snuck up on.

Not that Dumbledore was all that capable of being sneaky in the first place; come on, have you seen what the guy wears? Sides, it was kinda hard to be taken by surprise when they literally walked up to you and waited for you to notice how their shadow was blocking your reading light.

“Something I can help you with, Headmaster?”

Now, to be fair, Dumbledore’s always been far better at _sounding_ dangerous than looking the part. Unfortunately, the effect was kinda ruined once you went toe-to-toe with something that actually managed to pull off both scary looking _and_ sounding at the exact same time. Like oh, say, a Knight of Hell, for instance. And as bad as Dumbledore was, there was no way on Earth he could ever top something like _that._ That being said, his voice was still perfectly capable of convincing you it could freeze Fiendfyre.

“Was it true, Harry.”

Right, time to play things cool. “Was what true? You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that.”

“What you said about Severus. Was it true.”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? Voldemort would’ve come for me sooner or later; or did you conveniently overlook the fact that those infamous blood wards lost their market value the moment he used _my blood_ to resurrect himself? All he needed to do was have Lucius Malfoy traipse into the Ministry, pull my address from the Underage Magic office, and wham-bam-shang-a-lang, you got another kid’s death on your conscience.”

Or a (yet again) disembodied Dark Lord. Two outcomes Dumbledore probably would have been just fine with, seeing as how one way bought him time to plan (not do), and the other voided that blasted prophecy altogether.

Dumbledore’s grating condescension pulled him from that particular line of thinking. “My dear boy, I was quite confident that your mother’s sacrifice would still serve to protect you, even…”

“Even with a horde of Death Eaters coming down like an Armageddon flame? Awful trusting of you. Fortunately, I’ve seen enough in my life to know that it’s never a good idea to trust anyone. Whether or not they actually have your best interests at heart.”

“…You’ve changed, Harry.”

“Not that much. Or did you forget how I wanted nothing to do with authority when I went to save Flamel’s Stone from your ridiculous attempts to protect it? And however much further I’ve gone down that road you can lay solely on what I was forced to go through last year. And the year before that. And the year before…look; I got a lotta work to do, and not much time to do it. So, if you actually plan to get anywhere with your blathering, you’re gonna have to start talking to me like an equal. Which means you sit, hands on the table, and you hand over your wand for the duration. I will, of course, do the same.”

“…Must we?”

“You want any chance in Hell if me answering so much as even one of your brain-dead questions? Then yeah.”

Dumbledore gave a theatrical sigh, drew the Elder Wand from his robes, and placed it on the table. Harry raised his own from where it had been sitting on his lap, and did the same.

The chair gave an almighty creak as Dumbledore sank into it. “Now, my boy: Severus.”

“Snape.”

“Severus.”

“Snape. Someone refuses to use my first name, I do the same to them on principle, dead or not.”

“…Very well. Was _Professor_ Snape truly the one who gave up your location to Tom?”

“Honestly? No idea. Seems like the sort of thing he’d do; he was certainly clever enough to realize just how easy it would be for Voldemort to do what I said he could. And then to cut out the middleman and blab before Riddle figured out the same. If the blood wards held, he could have claimed he was securing his position as the Dark Lord’s spy. And if they didn’t…I suppose he could’ve blamed you for assuring him the things would stay up, even with Riddle’s resurrection. Does seem kinda odd to you, though, doesn’t it? That of all the people to get there first, it was him, when I know for a fact you didn’t send him.”

“And how would you know that, Harry?”

“You’re many things, Headmaster, but stupid enough to send Snape and Sirius to the same place, you are not.”

“…I see your point.”

“Oh, and I’m still pissed you decided to send the one member of your flaming chicken club that still has a kill-on-sight order hanging over his head.”

“I’m afraid he insisted, my boy. He said that he had left you in the lurch once before, and that he would be cursed before he did the same twice.”

“…Sounds sus, but okay. Getting back on topic; Snape was the first wizard I actually saw. Whether or not he was hoping to warn me away before anyone else arrived, or was planning to take out a little payback of his own before everyone else wanted in, I can’t say. What I _can_ say, is that given the circumstances, odds are pretty high that Death Eaters were watching the house. And like I said, there’s only two ways that Riddle could’ve gotten that information.”

“…But you did not personally witness Professor Snape reveal your location?”

“Of my house? No. Of this old place? Yep.”

Yet more lies. I wanted Dumbledore questioning each and every word that had ever come out of Snape’s mouth.

“And you are quite certain that it was not a false vision Tom allowed you to see, in order to cast doubts on Severus’ loyalty?”

“ _Snape’s_ loyalty, and nope. Only false vision I saw was one for some random door in the Ministry. Also, can I just point out, if you’re trying to keep something secret, posting a guard ain’t exactly being low-key, you know what I mean?”

Dumbledore went extremely pale. “So…Tom knows.”

“Knows? I’ll say he does. If I were you, I’d move whatever’s behind that door somewhere else, and maybe set a trap for when he inevitably decides to try something stupid like send his snake down there.”

“…I will make a note of it.”

Translation: stalling tactics.

“So, yeah, pretty sure Riddle knows about this place. Hell, he probably visited once or twice, back in the days when there was more of a Black family for him to court, and when he actually had, you know, a nose.”

“…Once again, you have brought an important matter to my attention, my boy. I shall have to make inquiries into better protections; it seems we cannot rely on secrecy as much as we had hoped.”

“No crap, Sherlock. At the very least, owl post can probably still get through. One exploding letter is all it would take to give everyone here a very bad day. Now, I’m sure you’ve got a hell of a lot more questions, and so do I, for that matter. But for now, I ain’t trusting you nor anybody else with any more secrets til I get this here contract done. I’d rather not be forced to admit in court that I helped Sirius escape execution, if you know what I mean.”

Not my primary motivation, but a good one, nonetheless.

“I completely understand, my boy. I shall return once you have finished with your work.”

“…That’s it? No remonstrations about killing Death Eaters, no slap on the wrist for resorting to violence, no speeches about how you need to know everything for the Greater Good?”

“Would any of that have any effect on you whatsoever, my boy?”

“…Touché. I’d tell you to write down a list of questions for me for later, but plausible deniability, and all that.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “And all that. Good night, Mr. Potter.”

“Good night, Headmaster.”

Harry waited for ten seconds past when the door closed behind Dumbledore before clearing his throat. “You can come out now, Mad-Eye.”

A ripple of fabric, and the form of the grizzled Auror came into view, a grin stretched over his face. “How’d ye know it was me, lad?”

“Who else would go to the trouble of hiding under an Invisibility Cloak to listen in on a conversation instead of just peeking though the keyhole like a normal person?”

Mad-Eye laughed. “Got me there, son. Though I have to ask, just what you were thinking talking to old Albus unarmed? For all you know, he coulda been someone else under Polyjuice, or had a second wand, or Merlin knows what else.”

Harry grinned. “Who says I was unarmed?”

He reached under the table…and pulled out the Mauser from where he’d stashed it. “People always forget that just because they can see your hands, doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt ‘em. And it’s ridiculously easy to pull a trigger with your foot, once you learn the trick to it.”

“I’ll try and keep that in mind, laddie. That’s Albus accounted for; what was your plan for dealing with me if I wasn’t who you thought I was?”

Sirius’ voice came from the opposite end of the room. “That would be me, I believe.”

Moody’s eye whirled in its socket. “How did…ah. The wards. Noticed three people in the room where you thought only Harry was supposed to be, did you?”

“Something like that. Got all the stuff we need for the tattoos, Harry.”

“Good. And Ted?”

“Ready, willing, and able. Says he’ll do it for no charge, in fact. That it’s the least he can do, considering.”

“Nice of him.”

Mad-Eye’s attention was once more firmly fixed on Harry. “Did I hear right, that the pair of you are getting…tattoos?”

“Yep.”

“Not magical ones, I hope. Can interfere with Polyjuice and…other things…if you aren’t careful.”

Harry snorted. “No, nothing magical about ‘em. Except for what they do. And by other things, I take it you mean the Animagus transformation?”

“Got it on one, lad.”

“Yeah, well, no danger of this messing up _that._ All it is is a little symbol designed to keep you from getting possessed, be it by ghost, spirit, or demon. Might even work to keep your soul from getting sucked out by a Dementor; who knows?”

Moody’s eyes bugged out. Both of them. “All that, from a single tattoo? No magic involved?”

“None.”

“…How much to get one of my own?”

Harry scratched his chin. “Hmmm…let’s say, one trip to Diagon without Albus finding out, and maybe a handgun to carry instead of lugging a full-length rifle around everywhere I go. Preferably a Colt; Smith and Wesson or Sig Sauer if you…hold on, take that back.”

Damn; he kept forgetting that all the good stuff hadn’t been invented yet. And he wasn’t about to start carrying around a Glock; Germans made good stuff, sure, but Glocks just had no personality whatsoever. Not like a Mauser, anyway.

“…Stick with the Colt, but if you can’t find one in good condition, Browning Hi-Power or CZ-75 will do.”

“Colt, Browning, CZ. Got it. Now…what’s this tattoo look like?”

Harry flipped over a piece of parchment he’d been using for notes, and began to draw. “First, you’re gonna need to make a circle. Then…”

* * *

Sirius rubbed his shoulder. “Always forget how much that hurts when you do it to yourself.”

“Aw, quit whining, you big baby. You survived Azkaban; a little old needle can’t be that much worse.”

“You’d be surprised. Now, what other manly acts have you decided to undertake in order to prove yourself a true Marauder, worthy of your own Marauder name?”

“Well for one, I was planning on summoning a demon later.”

Sirius ruffled his hair. “Har, har, very funny.”

No need to tell him I was being serious. That joke got old the first time you heard it.

“But what I need to do first, is convince you to let me drive that sweet, sweet bike of yours downtown. I got some places to stop in Muggle London; things that’ll make it a whole lot easier to do some pranking on both Moldy-shorts _and_ the Order.”

“You had me sold the minute you complimented my ride; but what’s the catch?”

“The catch is, you have to come along with. It’s just barely morning, and having a big, scary dog with you tends to scare off any potential muggers.”

“Aw, my godson’s not afraid of a few Muggles, is he?”

“Naw, I just don’t wanna have to wash any blood outta my clothes after I take care of ‘em.”

“…Good point.”

“Thought you’d see it my way. Well? You coming?”

“…In for a penny, in for a pound. Lead on, Prongs Junior.”

“You have _got_ to think up a better Marauder name than that.”

“We see what your Animagus form is, _then_ I’ll change it.”

“And how would one go about doing that, anyway? Hypothetically, of course.”

Sirius grinned. “Well…”

* * *

“Somehow, I don’t think normal Muggle dogs stare at magazines with that much concentration.”

“WOOF!”

“Oh, don’t give me that. C’mon, let’s get out of here. I got what I came for.”

Muggles; they were totally fine with throwing around _that_ kind of magazine in public, but show ‘em a copy of “Guns And Ammo”, and then everyone loses their mind.

He stomped down on the clutch, and pulled the Triumph out into traffic.

“Right; I know you can’t actually talk right now, but this is the perfect opportunity for me to explain some things to you without the risk of being overheard. Understand?”

A rather loud “WOOF!” came from the sidecar.

“Good. Now, one bark if yes, two if no. Is your Occlumency good enough to hold up to Dumbledore?’

“Woof!”

“Even better. Right; long story short, what actually happened last night was I went to bed, fell asleep, and at exactly twelve o’clock…woke up in a world at least twenty years ahead of our own.”

Padfoot gave him the dog version of a “Sirius-ly?” look.

“Yes, seriously. And on top of that, it wasn’t even my body I woke up in. Had to spend twenty-four hours walking around in someone else’s head; like Polyjuice, but you get all the memories of the person you’re copying. It was freaking weird, man.”

“Woof!”

“You said it. So, during said twenty-four hours, I was a bit preoccupied fighting for my life during most of it (because when am I not), but I did manage to squeeze in enough downtime to do some digging on what happened in the past. Specifically, this past. And what I found was nothing but piles of crap.”

“WOOF!”

“You’re one to talk. So, because I can make a pretty good guess at what’s coming, here’s what we’re gonna do. I got one more stop to make: whatever discount bookstore we can find that doesn’t look like it has security cameras. Once we get there, I’m gonna need to you to turn back human, and help me find a book series by the name of “Supernatural”. If you find it, pay close attention to the author’s name. if it’s Carver Edlund, good. Come tell me, then clear out as fast as you can. Leave the keys to the bike with me. Get your ass to America, as sneakily as possible. Head for a town called Sioux Falls; place called Singer Salvage. Bobby’s the owner; him you can trust. Tell him you’re a hunter slash wizard, and that you can teach him some about British magic in exchange for a place to lay low for a bit. If Bobby’s out on a hunt, Sheriff Jody Mills is trustworthy, but to be on the safe side, assume she doesn’t know about magic.”

“Woof?”

“If she’s not married anymore, then sure.”

“Woof?”

“if it’s not Carver Edlund?...Well then I guess we’re all screwed.”

Padfoot looked down into the bottom of the sidecar. “Woof woof?”

“Trust me, rock salt is gonna come in real handy. Especially against Peeves. How’s that for a first; bet the Marauders never managed to prank a poltergeist before, have they?”

“WOOF, WOOF!”

“Thought so. HEY! STAY OUTTA MY PIE!”

* * *

Sure enough, Carver Edlund.

Sirius had taken just enough time to say his goodbyes, and then Apparated away. There was absolutely no chance he wouldn’t get into trouble in America, but it was better to have someone like Bobby around to drag him out by the tail.

Before he’d left, he had given up two very important things: control of the wards in Grimmauld Place…and the name of the best place to acquire Firewhiskey underage in Hogsmeade. Which was just awesome.

Harry swung himself over the handlebars of the Bonneville. “Hiya Buckbeak; long time no see.”

The attic-dwelling Hippogriff barely looked up from where he was gnawing on an oversize bone.

“…Good talk.”

Now; to find out whether or not he’d been missed.

“CONSTANT VIGIL-URK!”

Harry bent down to help the now collapsed Auror. “Geez, Mad-Eye! You trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You trying to break ma windpipe? Where’d you learn to do that, son?”

“A long time ago, in a neighborhood far, far away. Since you were waiting up here, I take it they noticed I was gone?”

Moody rubbed his throat. “Nah, just wanted to test your reflexes. And offer to trade you some hand-to-hand training for any more little tricks like that tattoo of yours. But looks like you already got some somewhere else.”

“A bit. But I’ll still take you up on the offer; gonna have to train eventually, and I’d rather do it with someone I can learn from. In return, I’ll teach you how to make goofer dust.”

“Goofer dust?”

“Hellhounds hate it. And it might be good for containing Fiendfyre; haven’t had the chance to test it yet.”

“Works for me. When do you wanna start?”

“How bout…tonight, after dinner. I got some things to take care of, then I plan to sleep through lunch. Think I been awake almost thirty-six hours by now.”

Mad-Eye snorted. “Talk to me when you can go three whole days straight. Tonight, up here. Don’t be late.”

He couldn’t resist. “A wizard is never late, Mister Moody. Nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to.”

Mad-Eye laughed. “Dumbledore said that to me once, when he was three hours overdue for a meeting with the Minister. Glad to know he’s passing his wisdom on.”

Dumbledore read Lord of the Rings? Huh; who knew?

Although, now that he thought of it, that did beg the question of what would happen if one were to unironically call him Gandalf.

Probably nothing bad.

Probably.

He made his way downstairs, doing his best to avoid being seen. Invisibility Cloaks really were the greatest things ever invented.

He may not have left any incriminating evidence amongst his piles of study material in the library, but that didn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat when he noticed just who was standing over it.

“Whaddya think, Hermione?”

“I don’t know, Ron. When Dumbledore said it was an emergency, I was, I don’t know, expecting Harry to be actually hurt or something.”

“Can’t blame you; guy has some of the worst luck in the world.”

“Right. Which is why I’m…I’m confused he asked us both to come, when all it looks like Harry’s done is decide to run from a direct fight for once, and finally buckle down and study something useful.”

Well; that changed things.


	3. He Will Tear Your City Down

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

3) HE WILL TEAR YOUR CITY DOWN

_ Accompanying Song: "Soldier, Poet, King", by The Oh Helloes _

So; Dumbledore was probably hoping to reign him in a bit via his “friends”. Expected. But apparently, said friends were a bit less on the old man’s side than he’d thought, even counting the whole no-communication for the summer bit.

Well, either that, or Dumbledore had failed to mention what had happened to his relatives. Or Snape. Or the three made-up Death Eaters he’d “killed”. Which sounded much more reasonable, now that he thought about it. The Headmaster liked to keep things to himself; especially things like that.

Best to play things safe for now.

He pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, and then rolled it up behind his back. “You know, if people are gonna start talking about me behind my back, then I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to start listening behind theirs.”

He barely had time to brace himself before he was being trash-compacted by a patented Hermione Hug. “HARRY! We were so worried! Dumbledore told us your house burned down after some Death Eaters showed up, and that your family didn’t make it!”

“Is that all he told you?”

Hermione frowned. “Well, yes. Why? Was there something else?”

“Seems the Order is under the apprehension I took out three of the bastards on my way out and was indirectly responsible for Snape’s exit stage right at the hands of Moldy-Shorts. Can’t imagine why; it’s not like I haven’t got a very good reason to start getting rid of people that piss me off. Like the friends that were supposed to write to me this summer.”

Hermione had the grace to look ashamed. Ron, being Ron, ignored the last part of his sentence altogether. “Snape’s dead? And you arranged it? Bloody hell!”

Hermione reached out and punched him in the shoulder. “Ronald! Language!”

Ron rubbed the impact site vigorously. “Ow! Bloody he…eck, woman! Snape’s dead! I think I’m allowed to swear!”

“ _Professor_ Snape, Ron.”

Harry snorted. “Not anymore. Pretty sure you can’t keep teaching once you slip from mostly dead to all dead. Burning the bones of the body tends to keep ‘em from coming back as a ghost; so I think we can safely say we won’t be seeing Snape again til we get to the Other Side.”

Well, unless the bastard had any sentimental effects stashed away in his home down Spinner’s End. Like a locket of his mum’s hair, or something similar. Eugh…that was a mental image he _so_ did not need.

Hermione shuddered. “Burning alive. What a horrible way to go. Did…did Voldemort…”

Harry held up his hand. “First, I found out there was a damned good reason people didn’t use that name back in the first war. Turns out there was a Taboo on it; you say the name, you get a visit. The kind that ends with a new and permanent residence, if you get what I mean.”

Hermione gave an ‘eep’ of surprise, and Ron went pale.

“Second, I didn’t stick around long enough to find out what all the Dork Lard did.. Heard the Apparition, looked out the window and saw Snape, high-tailed it out the back.”

Hermione’s nose scrunched up. “How were you able to get out that fast and still grab all your things?”

“Who said I did? Had to leave Hedwig’s cage and my school trunk behind; good thing the old girl was out flying. And as much as I’d have liked to take some of my books along, I can always buy new ones. So, out I went with just my clothes, wand, Cloak, and a few Muggle conveniences I’d stashed just in case.”

“Like a World War Two sniper rifle?” Hermione snarked.

“You know a better way to deal with Death Eaters at long range that doesn’t get me written up for Underage Magic usage?”

“Well…no.” she sheepishly replied.

“Didn’t think so. Bit of a waste, though; considering I’m still probably gonna end up hauled to court for all the magic the Death Eaters were throwing around.”

Hermione sighed. “Oh, Harry.”

“I know, I know, just my luck. Still, at least I had Sirius set me up with a lawyer. Good one, too; offered to take on the case for free.”

“How does that equate to good?”

“Sorry, shoulda said trustworthy. Seems trust is pretty hard to come by these days; odds are it was Snape that snitched on my location to Riddle. So much for those all-powerful blood wards, eh?”

He gave a half-hearted laugh.

Hermione swallowed. “Is that why you’ve been studying magical contracts? To make others keep your secrets?”

“Make? No. I like to keep as much free will around as I can. Team Free Will, that’s me. But will I demand certain assurances from those who want to know potentially dangerous things about me? Damn straight.”

Ron stared. “…You’ve changed, mate.”

“Yeah, well, _you_ spend a second whole year being called a liar by the entirety of a school, see what it does for you.”

“He means more than that, Harry. You’re just…well, less… _you_. Your language, your thought process, even your clothes…”

He looked down. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Ron gave him a look. “Seriously, dude? Flannel?”

“What? It’s warm! Or did you forget we spend nine months out of the year in Scotland?”

Hermione raised one eyebrow imperiously. “And the boots?”

“Ditto, plus they’re a good way to hide knives. And before you ask, same goes for the coat and pants. Pockets are good.”

“And just where did you get the money to pay for all this?”

He shrugged. “Dudley used to steal cash for his cigarette habit; for once I decided to put it to better use.”

Hermione jabbed her finger at him. “See! _That’s_ what we’re talking about! The old Harry would never have _dreamed_ of stealing from anyone! _Or_ of being prepared to run or fight! What…” she swallowed, “What _happened,_ Harry?”

He gave another shrug. “Can’t tell you. Not without those assurances, at least.”

Ron’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Our word not good enough for you, _mate?”_

“Not in the least. Not now that I know just how many ways there are to get information from someone unwillingly. A contract will at least put a stop to _some_ of that. But not all. Sorry, _mate._ But right now, the only person I trust so much as even slightly without signing something is on his way out of the country for the duration of this whole bloody mess. And if I survive, I may just join him afterwards.”

“…Sirius is gone?”

Harry swung around. Damn it. “…Yeah, Remus. He’s gone.”

“…Without telling me?”

“…Let’s just say he had certain things pointed out to him that had him doubting which one you trusted more: him, or Dumbledore.”

“…I see.”

“No, you really don’t. Forget about it, Remus; it’s over and done with now. He made his decision; if you want to beat yourself up trying to find out why, that’s _your_ decision. For my part, I’m going to bed. I been up since twelve last night, and I only got two hours of sleep before that. Anyone so much as even _thinks_ about looking through my stuff without me, I will _bury_ you. Might even have the patience to kill you before I do it. Good night.”

Well, that oughta keep anyone from getting any ideas.

* * *

It didn’t.

“Sonuva _bitch!”_

They were in the Library. And whoever they were, they were pulling books off the shelves with absolutely no intentions of returning them.

“Alright you scumbags! WHAT! ARE YOU DOING! IN MY _SWAMP!!!!!”_

Huh. That actually worked.

And some of the positions people had frozen in were just downright hilarious.

Tonks was currently standing on a bookshelf, one leg stuck out behind her for balance. It wasn’t working.

Mad-Eye was in the back of the room hunched over, a chair leg in his hand. Probably getting ready to pound a doxie into dust; odds were high Harry could still mostly trust him, then.

Molly and Arthur Weasley must’ve been engaged in a shouting match, judging by how red in the face they both were, as well as how they were practically still glaring at each other. He really didn’t think Arthur had it in him; good to know he was wrong.

Remus was standing behind Tonks; obviously worried she was gonna fall (she probably was), and preparing to catch her when she did. All perfectly innocent. He snorted. Sure it was.

Bill and, surprisingly, Fleur, were both much further along in their activities. Each had a stack of volumes in their hands, and had obviously been fixing to head out the door with their liberated cargo.

Right; best put a stop to this before it went any further.

“What’s all this, then?”

The room exploded into sound, everyone trying to put in their two cents before anyone else could beat them to it.

Well this wasn’t gonna work.

Time for plan two.

BANG!

Silence reigned once more.

SHUNK-SHUNK, SHUNK- _CHUNK._

“Let’s take it from the top: What’s. All. This. _Then._ You; Weasley Senior. Explain.”

Arthur Weasley cleared his throat. “It seems that with the arrival of somewhat younger people in this house, that _some_ people”, here he glared at his wife once again, “feel that there ought to be a removal of certain materials that they feel are unsuitable and/or unsafe.”

Harry swung the Mauser’s barrel towards Molly Weasley. “You, red-headed harridan. Explain. As un-condescendingly as you can.”

Said harridan forced a grin onto her face; the effect reminded him of an alligator smiling for its lunch. “Harry dear, we were just looking out for your best interests. Such Dark Magic isn’t…”

Harry took aim. “Strike two. Care to make it three for three?”

“Oi! Careful where you’re pointing that thing! That’s my mum!

“I’m well aware of who it is, _Bill-iam._ In fact, it’s the only reason I have yet to pull the trigger again. You have ten seconds to explain why you thought it would be just a dandy idea to try and take from my family’s library without either explanation or compensation.”

Somehow, Bill managed to go even more still. “… _Your_ family, Harry?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Bill swallowed. “…Mum, perhaps it would be better if we…left well enough alone.”

“WILLIAM! You ought to know better!”

Mad-Eye laughed. “And so he does, woman. Did you not hear? Harry said this place belonged to his family. Sirius made him a Black in name, not just in blood. To give you control of the wards, I wager.”

“Among other things.”

“Smart as paint, you are lad; smart as paint!”

“I try. Now, since Dumbledore isn’t here, and since he was apparently fine with me doing research in here earlier, I’m gonna assume this was your idea, Mrs. Harpy. Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, if you didn’t want your kids around dangerous things, then you shouldn’t have brought them? I know for a fact Fred and George have probably read Hogwarts’ Restricted Section from one end to the other, and _they’ve_ managed to avoid being horribly cursed. Ron will only open a book if it’s a matter of life or death, which in his case would be an exam. And as for Ginny…I assume she’s learned her lesson about opening strange books. In short, your kids are all perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. You, however, are apparently…not. If you try to come in here again, the wards will turn you inside out and then electrocute the remains.”

“WHY I NEVER!”

“No ma’am, I don’t suppose you have.”

Mad-Eye piped up. “And if she tries to get someone else to do her work for her again, lad?”

“Good point. KREACHER!”

POP!

“What bad blood-traitor master’s halfblood godson be wanting?”

Harry pointed. “These individuals, minus the man missing an eye and the oldest red-haired one, have attempted to steal from the library of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.”

A crazed gleam entered the House Elf’s eye, and he slowly turned to face the rest of the room.

“You are not allowed to hurt them…”

Kreacher went back to sulking.

“…Yet. Your ‘bad blood-traitor master’ put me in charge; and I say that this was their one warning. If they’re successful on stealing from us again, you are permitted to steal all of it back, plus whatever Sickles, Knuts, or Galleons you can find on them to pay for the inconvenience. Even if they’re _un-_ successful at trying again, you have my full permission to pour itching powder down their clothes, put glue in their chairs, cayenne pepper in their food, and syrup in their sheets. Understood?”

The little fellow nodded vigorously. “Kreacher’s be understanding new half-blood master perfectly. Maybe new half-blood master be better than old one…”

And with that, the insane House Elf popped away.

Harry flicked the safety on the Mauser and slung it back over his shoulder. “Right; any more questions?”

Silence was his only answer.

“Good. Mr. Weasley, if you would be so kind as to escort your wife from the room. Everybody minus Mad-Eye and Tonks clear out as well. That goes double for you, Remus.”

If he hadn’t been glared at by some of the most powerful beings in all creation, he might actually have shuddered at the look Ms. Weasley was giving me. That woman could peel paint with her voice alone; and he hadn’t forgotten just who it was that had finally offed Bellatrix in the original timeline.

Speaking of which, he fully intended to make sure there was no such person as Delphini Riddle this time around. Failing that, he’d raise her himself. He may be dumb, but he wasn’t a dumbass. And giving your nemesis’ kid every reason not to hate you was just common sense.

When finally it was just Moody, Tonks, and himself left, he turned his full attention back to the pair of Aurors. “Right; Mad-Eye! Am I correct in assuming you tried to talk those dunderheaded idiots out of that truly, monumentally stupid idea?”

“Aye, that you are lad.”

“She-Whose-First-Name-Shall-Not-Be-Mentioned Tonks! Am I correct in assuming you ignored the recommendations of your former superior in favor of stealing from the very family you are a part of, name or not?”

“Harry I…”

“Yes or no, Auror Tonks!”

Tonks subconsciously snapped to attention. “Sir, yes sir!”

“Why was that, Auror Tonks?”

“Because I am well-acquainted with your lack of luck, sir, and I wished to remove potential sources of accidents from your path, sir!”

“Auror Moody! Do you find this explanation satisfactory?”

Mad-Eye gave a crocodilian smile. “For the moment. I’ll still be sure to assign her something suitably unpleasant as a punishment, though.”

“Belay that for now! Since I was so rudely interrupted from my well-deserved rest, I now find myself completely and thoroughly put-out, with no constructive outlet for my rage! Auror Tonks, for the moment, you’re on hand-to-hand-training duty with me! Auror Moody, in exchange for what I offered earlier, you will instead be our referee!”

Mad-Eye gave a half-salute. “Sir, yes sir. How long do you expect this training to go?”

“Until one or the other of us collapses from exhaustion.”

Tonks snorted.

“Something funny, Auror Tonks?”

“With all due respect, _sir,_ I’m fairly certain I can outlast a schoolboy. Especially one running on next to no sleep.”

“We shall see who will outlast who, Auror Tonks. Upstairs! Now!”

* * *

Tonks rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Time to put your money where your mouth is, Harry.”

“Funny, I was planning on putting something completely different there later.”

“HARRY!”

“What? I was talking about pie!”

“…Oh.”

He waggled his ears. “Oh dear; did someone have a naughty thought? Oops. And blushing already. Here I was thinking outlasting you might actually be a challenge.”

“OH, IT IS _ON_ NOW!”

He ducked under her first swing. “I’d say more than one thing was ‘on’, if you know what I mean.”

“Oooo, you little…!”

“Language, Auror Tonks! One must keep one’s cool at all times! For instance…”

He hooked his leg behind hers and twisted.

“When one finds oneself flipped into a compromising position!”

Tonks hit the floor hard, using the impact to bounce herself back his direction. “I’M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

“See, you really shouldn’t verbally threaten your assailants. Gives them an excuse for whatever they may happen to do afterwards in ‘self-defense’; like this!”

He brought his right arm across her midsection in a full body-check, and then slammed her once more down onto the training mat.

She tried to throw off his arm and continue the fight…only to come face to face with his German dagger pointed directly between her eyes. “…Harry?”

“If I had been a real opponent, Auror Tonks, you would now be dead! Several times over, in fact! Auror Moody! Would you care to explain, or shall I?”

“Help yourself, laddie.”

“Right then! Rule Number One: always assume your assailant is armed and protected far better than you yourself. There is no such thing as overkill. Rule Number Two: never allow your enemy to get under your skin. Literally, _or_ figuratively! A distracted fighter is a dead fighter. Rule Three: If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying. Life isn’t fair; you should take every available opportunity to make sure its unfair in your favor. Rule Four: play to your strengths. You’re a Metamorph; that means you can shift your body mass around. Use that to cushion the impact of unavoidable blows, or to put more weight behind strikes of your own. Am I leaving anything out, Auror Moody?”

Mad-Eye scratched his chin. “Well…you might wanna throw in something about minimizing your weaknesses, but other than that…I can’t think of nothing.”

He nodded. “Got it; minimizing weaknesses. Auror Tonks! What is your weakest area?”

Her eyes “…My balance.”

“Thought so. What can you do to minimize it?”

“…I dunno; maybe…dancing lessons?”

“Close. Dancing lessons will make you more graceful, true. But I just remembered Sun Tzu’s addendum to Rules Four and Five: show strength where there’s weakness, and weakness where there’s strength. If you truly want to surprise your opponents, you’ll find a way to work your residual lack of balance into your fighting style, instead of working to eliminate it altogether. If we had the time, I’d get you used to fighting on a ship. Sea legs work wonders against landlubbers; especially against the kind stupid enough to fight sailors in bars, if you get what I’m driving at.”

Mad-Eye raised his hand. “I know a few charms to mimic swaying floors, if you want me to toss ‘em out. Had to teach myself how to fight in case of earthquakes, or if the Muggles decided to start bombing each other again.”

His eyes narrowed. “…How much?”

“You let me be the first person to sign that contract you been working on.”

“…Done.”

He’d have to make it up to Luna later.

Tonks’ voice came from underneath him. “Contract?”

He rolled himself to the side and offered her a hand up. “Way to protect our minds from any mind readers. Or loose cannons with Veritaserum and/or compulsion charms. Which reminds me, I need to look into detection charms after this. Don’t suppose you happen to have a blood-quill on you, do you Moody?”

“For the contract?”

“Yep.”

The grizzled Auror reached into his robes and withdrew two items. One was the blood-quill, and the other was…

“Browning Hi-Power. 9mm Parabellum, whatever that means. Got you a few boxes of ammunition to go with it.”

“Awesome.” Harry reached into one of his own pockets. “Here’s the contract; swap you.”

Moody ceded his grip of the Browning in favor of grabbing the parchment. His eye began to jerk from side to side, taking in each and every line of the document. Harry dropped the gun’s magazine into his left hand, double-checked that it was full, and then slammed it back home. One rack of the slide and a flick of the safety later, and he was tucking it into his left inside coat pocket. His host may have preferred the small of the back for carry, but it wasn’t exactly the most discreet. Not to mention kinda hard to draw when one was sitting down.

“…These are some pretty serious penalties, lad.”

“I should hope so. I didn’t get it out of the Black library for kicks and giggles.”

Tonks leaned over, hoping to catch a glimpse. “What’s the worst that could happen if you broke the terms?”

Harry shrugged. “You’ll find out when I think you’re trustworthy enough to sign it.”

With a very pointed look his direction, Mad-Eye scribbled something down, and then passed both contract and quill back to Harry. “I’m trusting ye with this, lad.”

“I know. And to show you how much I appreciate it…” he signed his own name underneath the ex-Auror’s. “There. Now if anyone manages to make it through the minefield that is my brain, the rest of you will all have at least some protection.”

“…You didnae have to do that, lad.”

“Oh but I did. You say constant vigilance; I say trust no one. Not even yourself.”

“…What _happened_ to ye, lad?”

“You’ll find out later on our shopping trip. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the goofer dust, either. Now…how about those floor charms?”

* * *

Three very exhausting and sore hours later, Harry dragged himself down to the kitchen. He may have managed to outlast Tonks, but not by long. He was lucky his host had been a good horse rider; otherwise he would’ve been hard-pressed to stay ahead of Tonks’ learning curve. Once they’d beaten each other up enough with their bare hands, they’d moved on to unarmed-versus-armed defense. Turned out she was really good at that, once she knew what to look out for. 

He’d wanted to start teaching her how to use the handgun or the rifle, but he really didn’t want to shoot any more holes in the house than was absolutely necessary. So they’d stuck to loading, unloading, aiming, and dry-firing. He hadn’t convinced her to start carrying a gun of her own, but he had ended up blackmailing her into at least carrying a couple of knives in exchange for letting her sign the contract. He still hadn’t told her anything important, though; wanted to run it all by Moody first and see just how much he thought they could trust her with. Not for their sake, but for her own. She was still technically an employee of the DMLE, and he didn’t want to willingly put her in a position where she might be forced to either reveal what he’d told her or lose her job.

As he stumbled into the room, he gave an inward groan. Lunch time; ergo, everyone and their second cousin twice-removed was there. Dumbledore included.

Still, better to get this over with now.

At least Ron and Hermione had saved him a seat between them; he didn’t think he could stand sitting next to anyone else right now. He collapsed into the chair with a grunt, and then let his head fall forward on the table with a thunk.

“Way to _go,_ mate!”

He turned to glare at Ron. “For what?”

“Only one reason I can think of to spend a few hours with a bird and come down looking as tired as that. Good on you!”

…And there went any and all inclination he might have had to let the loud-mouthed ginger sign. Along with a good deal of whatever respect other people had held for him. He could practically _feel_ Ginny’s shattered expression from where he sat, as well as the looks of disapproval from both the Headmaster and the Morrigan. Best put the uppity snot in his place before it went any further than just looks.

“Ron, what I or anyone else in this house get up to in our private time is, frankly, none of your business. I’ll have you know the reason I’m so bloody tired is that I’ve spent a grand total of thirty-four outta the last forty hours awake, with the last three set aside for some private Auror-grade hand-to-hand training. _Not_ whatever your twisted hormonal mind may have driven into your thick skull. And if you ever so much as hint at such activities again at the table, with no amount of respect for the fairer sex, then I’ll let Hermione have you. Clear?”

Ron had the decency to look properly scared at that particular threat. Course that mighta had something with how Hermione was currently glaring at him like he was a particularly offensive bug.

It seemed everyone else had been mollified by his speech, although Ginny still looked a little pale. Maybe she’d finally figured out that if she didn’t make her move, someone else might cut ahead of her and get there first. He didn’t care one way or another; he had more important things to worry about.

Like Dumbledore.

“I understand that in my absence, you threatened quite a few people about taking things from the library, Harry. May I ask why?”

“You may. You won’t care much for my answer, though.”

“I ask that you share it anyway, if you please.”

Hmmm. Did he go to the trouble of explaining himself, or did he go the prank route?

Ah, who was he kidding. Prank all the way.

“Fine. I need to go through any and all of that material to see what I can find on the subject of reincarnation.”

A look of confusion clouded Dumbledore’s face. “Reincarnation?”

Harry nodded as solemnly as he could. “Correct. I have recently discovered that I am the tenth reincarnation of Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, Savior of the Galaxy, Slayer of the Mand’alor, and a whole lot of other long meaningless titles that don’t have a meaning in this day and age.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“…Is that so, Harry?”

He drew it out as long as he could. “…Nah, I’m just screwing with you. Surprise!”

Hermione slugged him in the arm.

Dumbledore sighed. “As much of a prankster as your father. Would I be correct in assuming the true reason for your reaction was your lack of sleep, and not a revelation of any lingering ill will towards anyone here?”

“Assume away, Headmaster. If anyone cares to find me, I’ll be in the library multitasking. And before you ask, if anyone actually wants me to start trusting them, then I’ve got a nice little contract for you to sign that’ll make sure no one can hold anything over anyone else.”

With that, he picked up his plate, and strode from the room.

He was, unfortunately, stopped in his tracks just outside by his second favorite pair of twins.

“Oi, who you calling second?”

“Sorry Gred and Forge, didn’t realize I said that out loud. And let’s face it chaps, you’re just not up to the Patils’ level.”

They grinned. “Very true, oh great prankster ours. Would’ve had to take offense if you’d chosen the Carrow twins over us, though.”

“Why? Cause they’re Slytherins? Need I remind you Wormtail was a Gryffindor?”

“Whoah, whoah, no need to get all antsy. We get it. Some of our best business deals have come from Slytherins. But the Carrow twins are among the very few to identify one of our pranks before it went off, and then threaten us quite convincingly to leave them out of any and all future attempts. Those girls are scary, mate.”

“I’ll be sure to make a note of that. Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Your contract. We wanna sign it.”

“Are you sure? Penalties are a bit steep.”

“We owe you, mate. Not just for the shop, but for saving our sister in second year, and for…well, for all of it. You don’t have to warn us about anything; we trust you.”

“…Good to know. Thank you. Both of you. I mean it.”

“What are friends for? Sides, you just managed to prank the entire Order in the space of thirty seconds. We got no way to top that. Lead the way, oh fearless comrade-in-arms!”

A potentially very dangerous idea flashed through Harry’s mind. “Say fellas…”

He wrapped his arms around their shoulders. “How would the pair of you like to become Animagi and join the Marauders for real?”

“Just say the word and we’ll hand over the rights to our souls, old chap.”

“No souls required. Just a few runs to a certain location the honorable Mister Padfoot revealed to me…”

* * *

After warning the two devils that offering your soul and/ or first-born for something was in fact a very bad idea, and could actually be done by accident if you weren’t careful, he finally got down to his multitasking.

“Eating and reading at the same time isn’t multitasking, Harry.”

“Multitasking is defined as doing more than one thing at a time, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but..”

“And eating is a thing, correct?”

“Yes, but…”

“And so is reading, right?”

“But…”

“But nothing. If eating is a thing, and reading is a thing, and I’m doing both at once, plus talking on top of that, that automatically means I’m multitasking. Ergo, I’m right, and you’re wrong.”

Hermione huffed. “Fine, but you don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“If you say so. Come to sign?”

“I wanna hear the penalties first.”

“Course you do. Right; first thing I looked for was a way to erase any sensitive information from someone’s head the instant they so much as even thought about spilling it. No go; Obliviation’s a fine art, and the contract would’ve had a whole lot of trouble picking and choosing which bits to erase from multiple possible memories, at least without leaving the recipient a vegetable a la Lockhart.”

“Get to the point, Harry.”

“I am, I am, keep your shirt on. Or don’t. Next thing I looked for was a way to keep anyone from actually telling the truth about what they’d seen or heard. No dice again; all anyone would have to do was convince themselves they were lying, and they could say whatever the hell they wanted. Last possibility I looked into was what’s called a Cassandra Curse; you can say whatever the hell you like, but no one will ever believe you’re telling the truth. And I hit paydirt.”

He held up the contract. “The magic on this contract literally keeps anyone from believing what you say about its penalties or its subject matter once you sign.”

“But that’s a violation of free will!”

“Nope. You still have the choice to sign. Or not. Makes no odds to me. But if you insist on knowing the penalties, you’re gonna have to read them.”

She did so.

“…Harry, I thought you said that Obliviation wouldn’t work!”

“I said it wouldn’t work if you were trying to avoid becoming a vegetable. You try to reveal a secret willingly, and that’s exactly what will happen. And wham-bam-shang-a-lang, the Janus Thickery Ward gets two new permanent residents.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know; great, isn’t it? So, do you sign, or not?”

Hermione sighed. “Have a quill handy?”

“Here you go.”

“…Harry, this isn’t a normal quill.”

“Blood quill. Mildly Dark, but only way to sign one of these things without us actually sharing blood directly. Which might lead to some awkward questions on whether or not magic considers us married or not.”

Hermione snorted. “Bet Ginny would go for that way, then.”

She then promptly slapped her hand over her mouth. “…I wasn’t supposed to say anything…”

“And now you know why I wanted a contract. Don’t worry about it; I knew about Ginny already. I’m not quite as unobservant as everyone thinks I am.”

She gave a sigh of relief, and then signed.

“So…what now? Do I get any answers on what actually happened to you since school let out?”

“Yes and no. Tell you what; gimme a hand enchanting this…” he pulled out the brush axe from under his chair, “throw up every secrecy spell you know, and I’ll tell you what actually happened to change my outlook on life. Understand there’s some things I just can’t tell you yet, mostly about what I pulled from Moldy-Shorts’ head fore I figured out how to block him. Got to run ‘em by Mad-Eye first, see what he thinks.”

“That’s very mature of you, Harry.”

“Glad you think so. So, there I was, passed out in bed, when…”


	4. I Got A Game I Wanna Show You

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

4) I GOT A GAME I WANNA SHOW YOU

_ Accompanying Song: "Alastor's Game", by The Living Tombstone _

“Why these particular things, Harry? There’s got to be better stuff you can use to fight.”

Harry grunted as he dropped the cauldron into place. “Probably. But when you’re dealing with things like blood magic, believe it or not, sentimentality and family connections actually make the end product stronger. Least that’s what I found. The dagger’s been in my mum’s family since the War; and the brush axe and I got a long and personal history.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “And the paring knife?”

“…Let’s just say I done a fair amount of slicing and dicing with it and leave it at that.”

“If you say so, Harry.”

She ran her finger down the potion’s ingredient list just once more to be on the safe side. “So…blood magic, huh? Isn’t that a little…you know…”

“Dark? Probably. You can do a lot of things with blood taken from someone unwillingly. Or some _things,_ for that matter.”

“Like Re’em’s blood.”

He thought back to Ruby, and just what she’d managed to get his brother into. “…Among other things. Hand me that rope, will you? Thanks.”

“Rope, Harry? Won’t it catch on fire?”

Harry’s finger’s flew as he knotted the handles to the line. “Normal hair, yes. Rougarou hair’s a bit stronger than normal. If we hang it high enough, it should keep everything but the blades out of the brew. Back to the original topic: forcibly taken blood can have some very nasty uses. But if its’ freely handed over or given, the level of power goes up exponentially.”

“Big word.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t live with a college lawyer for long without picking up a few…”

He hissed.

“Damn it. Gotta watch out for that.”

Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Harry. You won’t mess up.”

Sure. Horcruxes, the Mark of Cain, demons, angels, Death Eaters and Dark Lords. Things were looking just fine and dandy.

“We’re here for you.”

“You were there for me over there too, Hermione. And it still all went to Hell.”

“But we won, didn’t we? Everything turned out alright.”

He sighed. “…Not really. When I said I went digging into the past, what I actually meant was I pulled up a summary on Wikipedia.”

“Wikipedia?”

“Oh yeah; big online encyclopedia. Billions of articles, all nice and cross-referenced. And you could get to it from anywhere in the world. You would’ve loved it.”

“It sounds nice.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes ignorance really is bliss. The reason I was able to find anything at all about us on a Muggle invention was because the Statute of Secrecy didn’t exist.”

“You told me that, remember? You used to hunt witches; well, the actually bad kind. And its not like you ever ran into Obliviators or Aurors doing your job for you.”

“You’re not getting the point: the Statute of Secrecy didn’t exist, because there wasn’t any magical world to create it.”

“…What are you saying, Harry.”

“I’m saying that the reason the Muggles knew enough about us to put our names up in blaring big letters was because we were _fictional._ How’s it feel to know that there’s an actor in another world walking around with your face on-screen in some Muggle’s house? Cause from my point of view, its happened twice.”

Hermione’s voice suddenly sounded very small. “…Oh.”

He sighed. “Sorry; didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…things over there, they…they didn’t end the best for us.”

“…What happened?”

“I like to do all I can to give free will the edge, and considering our Destiny went off the rails the minute I woke up in someone else’s skin, I’ll just give you a brief breakdown. You got tortured, Ron abandoned us the minute we got to the ‘hurry up and wait’ part of the war, Dumbledore died, Snape died, Fred died, Tonks, Lupin, Sirius…basically, we payed a whole lot in blood just to end the Dork Lard permanently and give all the Death Eaters yet another second chance. You married Ron, I married Ginny, and the last I heard we were all standing on Platform 9 ¾ pretending not to notice just how much lower the amount of first-year Muggleborns was.”

“Oh, _Harry.”_

“I know, I know. Dumbledore’s live-and-let-live philosophy cost us more lives than Moldy-shorts ever did. But this time around, at least we know what’s coming. And when the time comes for Dumbledore to kick the bucket, don’t expect me to cry about it.”

“You’re not going to save him?”

“Would you?”

“I…I don’t…” She bowed her head. “I don’t know. Would it make anything better?”

On account of the Elder Wand alone, there was really only one answer he could give. “No.”

They both went silent after that, choosing instead to focus on the cauldron.

Silver for werewolves, lamb’s blood for djinn, holy oil for angels (it was amazing the things the Black family stockpiled), amethyst to absorb ghosts, and lots, lots more. In the end, there was only one thing left to add.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna need your blood, Hermione.”

“Why?”

“Catalyst. Already added mine to the mix, so all we have to is sit back and watch the reaction.”

And boy howdy was he hoping the mixture of basilisk venom and phoenix tears he’d been injected with wouldn’t come back to bite him here.

“Alright; hand me the knife.”

He did so. “Knuckles, not palm. Heals faster.”

“I know, Harry. My dad’s a dentist, remember? Just because I only really care about history doesn’t mean I don’t listen to everything else.”

“Never said you did, Hermione.”

The second the first drops hit the surface, the cauldron’s contents turned a mixture of brilliant emerald and gold.

“I think we’re safe to dip the blades in now.”

Aside from a low sizzling sound, nothing much happened when the blades slid into the brew.

“Right; should probably let that sit for a few hours. Sorry to skip out on you, but I got some places to hit in Diagon. Lost all my school books, among other things, and replacements would be good.”

“Dumbledore is letting you go on your own?”

“I’m not; I’m taking Mad-Eye. Or rather, Mad-Eye’s taking me.”

Hermione visibly relaxed. “Oh; well that’s alright then. Do you want us to leave supper out for you?”

“Nah; I can pick something up on the way back. And if I’m still hungry after that, I can get Kreacher or Dobby to pick me up something.”

POP!

“The Great Master Harry Potter sir be’s calling for Dobby?”

He blinked. “…Well I hadn’t planned on it, but now that you’re here, might as well ask a favor from you.”

“The Great Master Harry Potter sirs be asking Dobby a _favor_? Oh, Dobby’s is not worthy!”

“Riiiight…okay; Dobby, I’d really appreciate it if you could watch this cauldron for me while I’m gone. If someone were to do something to it, it might end badly. Can you make sure no one comes looking?”

The House Elf nodded vigorously. “Dobby’s can be doing that!”

“Thanks a lot, Dobby. Would you like me to get you some socks on my trip?”

“SOCKS! Harry Potter sirs be offering to buy Dobby SOCKS! Oh yes, Great and Wise Master Harry Potter sir! Dobby’s be likings that very much!”

“Alright then. Stay out of sight til I get back, and the socks are yours.”

Dobby gave one more nod, and then vanished.

The minute he was out of sight, Hermione proceeded to brain him with a book. “HARRY!”

“What?”

“You took advantage of him!”

“I did no such thing! I’m paying him, ain’t I?”

“In _socks._ That doesn’t count, and you know it.”

He sighed. “Hermione, to House Elves, gold is worthless. Silver, bronze, all currency means nothing to them. To them, clothes _are_ money. Or did you think it was coincidence the way you free one is with a used shirt?”

“It’s wrong!”

“How so? You oughta know that different cultures used to have different currencies; Native Americans used clam-shells, Malaysians used very odd rocks. How are clothes any different?”

He held up his hand to cut off the coming hurricane. “One day, their currency might evolve. But til then, best not to rock the boat. Or do you wanna be known as the one responsible for destabilizing the House Elf economy?”

Her mouth snapped shut with a click.

“Right; now, I’m pretty sure Dumbledore dragging you here has messed up your homework schedule…”

“…Yeah…”

“…So why don’t you get caught up while I’m gone?”

“So I can help you with yours later, you mean.”

“Ouch. Rest assured, oh distressing damsel, I have every intention of suffering through my essays in silence.”

“Oh go on, you prat.”

“Jerk. Don’t wait up for me.”

* * *

“Ready to go, lad?”

“Got a list and everything. We Flooing or Portkeying?”

“Portkeys can be traced, lad. Floo at least you can keep going if you realize your destination is a trap.”

“Good point. Leaky Cauldron?”

“Nah; figured it’d be best if we slipped in real quiet like. Owner of Eyelops owes me a few favors; he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“Right. After you, then.”

* * *

“Where to first, lad?”

“Gringotts. Only place around here I can be reasonably sure we won’t be overheard, not to mention I need to grab some hard coin.”

Moody tossed something bright and shiny in Harry’s direction. “You’ll be needing you key, then. Pinched it from the harridan this morning to make up for not being able to stop her assault.”

“…Thanks, Mad-Eye. Really.”

Moody shrugged. “Water under the bridge. While you’re there, you might wanna trade some for Muggle cash, too.”

“Already taken care of.” He patted his pocket. “Fun fact; Muggle ATM’s are stupid easy to break into without anyone noticing. Especially when what few security cameras are around are all crap.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you laddie.”

“Trust me, we’re just getting started. I know for a fact the Goblins employ cursebreakers and enchanters; do they do a lot of tomb raiding in Egypt?”

“Amongst other places.”

“Any chance they’ve had to deal with phylacteries, or would be willing to for a fee?”

“Just what are you getting at, son?”

“I’ll tell you inside. Just answer the question.”

“…Well lad, you have to understand…”

* * *

“Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell. I mean, just…. _shit.”_

For all the hardcase Moody appeared to be, Harry genuinely thought was the first time he’d ever heard the man swear.

“He’s not dead.”

“We know that, Mad-Eye.”

“No, I mean…I mean that…well you know what I mean. Bejaysus. Soul shards. How many? Egyptians always liked the number four, five counting the original…”

“I’m afraid he’s made a bit more than that.”

“…Seven, then. Next best number for stability. Even _that’s_ insanity. Don’t suppose you happen to know where all of ‘em are?”

“Most of ‘em. One of them I destroyed in second year. Malfoy set it loose; it’s what opened the Chamber of Secrets. Another one’s right here in the bank.”

Moody’s eye whirled in all directions, as if expecting Riddle’s specter to come at him from the surrounding walls.

“Relax; it’s pretty bound in place. Our only problem is getting the Goblins to let us take care of it.”

“…Considering I’m pretty sure its against regulations to store a damn _Horcrux_ in the bank, they just might be willing to do it themselves. And then empty the owner’s pockets to pay for it. _Please_ tell me Lucius Malfoy is the name on the vault.”

“Close; Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Good enough. C’mon; let’s go ahead and take care of it.”

“You go ahead. I’d rather not have anybody make a note of my involvement, if you know what I mean.”

Well, that, and he didn’t wanna take a chance that the Goblins just might recognize the Mark of Cain for what it was. Seems like the sorta thing his luck would leave to.

“I tell you what; I’ll be waiting at Flourish and Blotts when you get done.”

“Planning on getting around with your Invisibility Cloak?”

“More or less. Here; catch.”

The Auror just barely managed to keep the mirror from slipping through his hands. “What’s this, lad?”

“Way to get in touch in case of emergencies. Open it and say my name, it’ll put you through. Black family charm; Sirius was kind enough to pass it on. _Don’t_ drop it.”

“Rest assured, laddie,” Moody said as he slipped the mirror into his robes, “I have absolutely no intention of it. And remember: constant vigilance!”

“And trust no one. See you soon.”

He stepped out the door of the bank, and pulled the hood of the Cloak over his head. “Right; first stop is gonna have to be Ollivander’s.”

* * *

The door swung open to reveal the same dusty, seemingly deserted shop he’d been expecting.

“…Do you really think trying the same trick on me again is gonna work out for you, Ollivander?”

“Of course not, my boy. I was just merely satisfying my own curiosity on whether your reactions have improved as much as people say. Would you mind lowering your wand, please?”

“Sure. Not like I coulda done much to you with it; not working too great for me since the end of the school year.”

“…Ah. Yes, I can see how that might have happened.”

“Dumbledore told you then?”

“My boy, I was selling wands when Albus Dumbledore was just a little first-year. Nobody ever has to tell me anything.”

“Really? Then did you know the Dark Lord’s wand and mine got locked into Priori Incanteum?”

“I had a suspicion it would happen should your paths ever cross..”

“Yeah, well, fella was just as surprised as I was. Wouldn’t surprise me if he came knocking looking for answers.”

“…You raise an excellent point, Mr. Potter. Perhaps it would be for the best if I were to close up shop, maybe move into temporary quarters closer to the school for the duration.”

“Maybe. But first, I need a wand.”

“Of course. Holly and phoenix feather, correct?”

“Yeah; and I don’t think either one really cares for me anymore.”

“Hmm. In that case, perhaps we ought to look at something a bit more suited to your current needs. Follow me.”

Harry hadn’t seen the back of the shop before; somehow, it managed to be even dingier than the front.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll believe me when I say that I have just as much interest in the permanent demise of the Dark Lord as any of Dumbledore’s little group. Therefore, it would perhaps be in both our best interests if we started with some of the more powerful options I have available. To that end: here.”

Harry took the strangely colored wand. “What is it?”

“To get some idea of which direction to go, I have kept the core the same: phoenix feather. The wood, however, is composed of a particularly strong branch of Elder.”

…Damn.

He gave it a twirl anyway.

“Hmm. Yellow sparks. Neither one particularly cares for your hand, but both are still useable. It certainly hasn’t clarified anything…perhaps we should try something on the opposite end of the spectrum. Now, what shall it be…ah, here we are. Aspen, with a core of Thestral hair.”

Two for two.

Bloody hell, was Fate still pissed at him or something?

He still tried it.

“No sparks, but a green glow from the wood itself. Well, that certainly seems to point in a certain direction…try this one. Thunderbird feather, inserted into a carved Basilisk tooth.”

He was ninety percent sure someone upstairs was laughing their ass off right about now. Basilisk tooth; no bets on where it came from, if you please.

“As I suspected. Your core must be as strongly aligned with the Light as the rest is the Dark. To my great regret, I have only one wand in stock that could possibly leverage the two to equal extremes.”

Oh, whatever it was, it couldn’t be good…

He was almost afraid to ask. “…And just what is it made of?”

“I shall tell you if and only if it responds to you.”

The old man shuffled over to a particularly high shelf, and stretched as high as he could. “I was forced to lock this particular sample away out of sight; it kept getting into the hands of potential customers and causing a great deal of chaos, let me tell you. If I didn’t know better, I would swear it had a mind of its own…”

He gulped. There was only one wand he knew of that had ever been described in that manner…if this one was anything at all like _that_ one, then things were about to get very, very interesting.

Ollivander flicked the case open.

“…Bone. The wand’s made of bone.”

“Very special bone, Mr. Potter. Go on; give it a whirl.”

Hesitantly, he reached out.

The instant his fingers touched the handle, he heard it. The whispering; the voice.

He jerked his fingers back. “Oh, _crap.”_

“Ah, so you can hear it. How… _intriguing._ Mr. Potter, I believe we have found your wand.”

“What the _hell_ is that thing?”

“A rarity, Mr. Potter. Both parts of it. The bone I procured from a traveling representative of the Catholic Church; he claimed that it was the very jawbone the judge Samson once used to kill a hundred men at once. And the core…the core was something I had to pay very dearly for, indeed.”

“…What is it.”

“A feather, Mr. Potter. But one of the rarest feathers in existence; it is the feather… _of an archangel.”_

Bloody hell; it was a bootlegged archangel blade. With far too many similarities to the First Blade to be a coincidence. In fact it wouldn’t surprise him at all if the feather ended up being…

“…Lemme guess; Michael’s?”

Ollivander blinked. “Why, yes; how did you know?”

“Let’s call it a lucky guess.”

Sure, let’s go with luck. Once he got rid of the Fates for good, he’d be lucky if _luck_ were all he had to deal with.

“How much for the bl…for the _wand_?”

“Considering I would very much like to survive this coming war, let us say…thirty-seven Galleons.”

He reached into his pocket. “You sure? Seems a bit cheap.”

“Investment in the future is always worth the layout, my boy. Remember that.”

Harry slipped his brand new-ancient wand into his right inside coat pocket, and then disappeared once more under the Cloak. “I’ll try to, Mr. Ollivander. I’ll try.”

* * *

A trunk was easy enough to come by; same for Potion ingredients, tools, and robes. Things tended to go a lot smoother when people didn’t recognize you. It was a wonder what Muggle clothes and lack of glasses could do in that regard.

He did, however, make a note to himself to look into potential ways to improve his vision. Now that Professional Quidditch was well and truly out as a career choice, he didn’t have to worry too much about any regulations on enhanced eyesight in the League.

He had just finished making his last purchase in Flourish and Blotts when he felt his mirror buzz in his pocket. Trying very hard to appear casual, he strolled back around the corner, shoved his glasses back onto his face, and answered the call. “This is Agent Kowalski, go ahead.”

“…Harry? Is that you?”

“Depends; what’s Mad-Eye Moody’s favorite phrase?”

“Constant vigil…oh. I get you lad. Thank ye for pointing out the danger in assuming the person you’re calling is the person that answers.”

“You’re welcome. Now talk.”

“Well, good news, Goblins were more than happy to cover up that little problem of theirs. Bad news, they really, really want to know whos’ been blabbing about those _things_ to an Auror. Good news, they were willing to overlook that little detail for now in favor of decimating the Lestrange Vaults and the Malfoy Vaults looking for other potential… _contraband._ Wouldn’t surprise me if Lucius Malfoy wakes up tomorrow with significantly less gold than he had this morning. In more bad news…I’m looking straight out the doors of Gringotts…and I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it to you anytime soon, son.”

He had a bad feeling about this. “And just what, exactly, is the cause of your predicament?”

“…Dementors, lad. I count five of ‘em.”

…Well _that_ was overkill if he ever heard it.

“Right; time to give you a crash course in what I like to call ‘alternative methods’. Step one, you’re gonna need to transfigure a whole lotta salt…

* * *

He’d planned to make a run for it.

He really, really had.

Right up until he recognized the only Auror currently wielding a flickering eagle Patronus against the Dementors.

“Sonuva _bitch.”_

If he didn’t save Hestia Jones, he suspected Tonks might never forgive him.

And, well, if he was being honest with himself, he really, _really_ wanted to find out just how effective the ‘alternative methods’ were against Dementors.

First, to get their attention.

“I HAVE COME HERE TO CHEW BUBBLEGUM…AND TO KILL DEMENTORS. AND I AM ALL, OUT…OF BUBBLEGUM.”

Kinda successful. Three peeled off to come after him; leaving two against the rapidly weakening Auror.

He proceeded to fling a giant stream of salt straight at the nearest ugly.

To his complete surprise, it actually _did_ something. Said ugly immediately produced the most horrid screeching noise he’d ever had the misfortune of hearing. He briefly wondered if Peter Jackson had ever had this exact same experience before designing the Nazgul. Which raised a whole lot of other interesting questions about Elves, Goblins, and Dwarves…

He could look into it later. Right now, there was a passed out Auror lying in the middle of the street, with two dementors still hovering over her, and two more coming his way.

He pulled out his crowbar. Solid iron. Usually only good for ghosts and absorbing magic; here, he knew for a fact there were a few skulls it could break.

CRUNCH!

And so it did.

Two wounded, three to go.

One of them bent down above Jones’ barely breathing form.

“Oh no you don’t!”

He hurled the crowbar.

THUNK!

_SCRREEEEEEEEE!_

Right in the piehole. He knew for a fact nothing tasted right for a while after that. He just hoped the same applied to souls.

The last two unhurt Dementors began to circle, their friends warily joining them. Good; he was surrounded.

He grinned as he pulled out his makeshift Molotov cocktails.

That meant he could fire in every direction.

“Light ‘em up.”

CRASH- _WHOOSH!_

**_SCREEEEEEE!_ **

The unfortunate recipient of his attentions turned and fled, its robes ablaze. For no particular reason, Harry rather doubted it would be back.

CRASH- _WHOOSH!_

Another screech, and another Dementor making like a bat out of Hell. The only ones left now were the ones he’d already managed to piss off. And it looked like they were done letting him go first.

He barely had time to blink before they were diving. A roll to the right, a scramble forward, trying to reach the crowbar he’d thrown earlier just out of reach…

No good. A terrible cold seemed to freeze his legs in place as two powerful sets of hands grabbed him from behind. He did just manage to grab the crowbar, but they were expecting it now, and ducked out the way of his twisting swing.

The two on his legs transferred their grip to his arms to better hold him in place. The third, however, lowered its face to his, revealing its horrific visage in its entirety.

Eh, he’d seen worse.

Apparently, it was time to find out whether or not a Dementor could suck out a Horcrux. Or if the Mark of Cain would even let them get that far.

Spoilers: whatever was happening, it bloody well _hurt._

Like, a lot. Like, one of Alistair’s torture sessions a lot.

But the Mark did its job; his soul stayed put. At least, he was pretty sure it did.

It seemed an eternity before the pain receded. He hit the pavement hard as the Dementors dropped him, unable to comprehend just how their meal had managed to survive. Shakily, he staggered to his feet.

“Weren’t expecting that, were you?”

All three hissed in response.

_Cain…_

Whispering.

The voice from before.

His fingers moved towards his pocket, seemingly of their own accord.

_Vessel…_

The voice grew clearer the instant he drew his wand. It seemed to burrow its way into his mind, in a way not even the Imperius had done.

_Eldest… **Smite them.**_

He lunged.

SHUNK!

He took it back; _this_ was by far the worst sound he’d ever heard. A gargling sizzle, growing and spreading from where his wand was now half-a-foot deep in the chest of a Dementor. Yet he didn’t stop; couldn’t stop. Not until this **_thing_** in front of him was reduced to less than dust.

When at last the screaming stopped, he calmly wiped his wand on his trousers, carefully placed it back in the correct pocket…and then promptly collapsed in the spot.

That…that was…

Oh Merlin, he was gonna be sick.

The other two must’ve left their companion to its fate; he no longer felt them anywhere nearby. And just how the hell was he able to feel them anyway?

Numbly, he ran his fingers over the burnt ground in front of him. There was no mistaking that imprint…oh how he wished there were.

Angel wings.

Bloody _angel wings._

Whatever the hell those things were now, whatever had been done to them to make them that way…they had been angels once. And his wand had **_hated_** them. His wand…and maybe, just maybe…however much of Michael’s Grace was left in the core.

Answers. He was gonna need answers.

But that could wait for now.

Groaning, he pulled himself over to the Auror’s fallen form. He would’ve called her still being able to breathe a success, if it had been anything other than a Dementor attack. A crumpled bar of chocolate in some random pocket was all he was able to find in the way of first aid; not much, but better than nothing. He peeled off half the wrapper as un-messily as he could, and held it up to her nose. She made a small humming noise at the smell; that was good. Reactions were good. Slowly, he worked her jaw open, and placed half the bar inside. He wasn’t stupid enough to try and get her to swallow; and besides, she’d probably get more out of it if it dissolved in her mouth.

As gently as he could manage, he slipped his left arm under her neck, his right under her legs, and lifted. He was relieved when she shifted into the embrace, obviously trying to get comfortable. Slowly, he made his way back to the now abandoned bookstore, and then inside. He left her tucked into the chair behind the front desk, a space-blanket he’d picked up in London loosely wrapped around her. He’d woken up from what he’d thought was the end before, and he knew just what it felt like to be confined when it happened. Placing the last half of the chocolate bar in her hand, and then slinging his trunk up onto his shoulder, he once more stepped out into the Alley.

Mad-Eye was waiting for him.

“Any trouble, lad?”

“Nope; no trouble.”

Just a couple of Earth-shattering revelations; nothing outta the ordinary.

“Absolutely no trouble at all.”

* * *

It was back.

It wasn’t just the wand whispering to him now; the Mark had finally woken up. Then again, thinking back on everything that had happened within the past two days…he began to wonder if perhaps it hadn’t been awake already. Merely waiting for the opportune moment. One Mark to rule them all. He snorted. Now that’s what you call ironic.

Hermione hadn’t believed him when he’d claimed he’d been perfectly safe the whole time; she’d berated him quite soundly, saying she’d honestly thought he’d gained at least a few survival instincts during the summer. He’d assured her that he had indeed been planning to get the hell outta Dodge, but he couldn’t just let Hestia die. He may or may not have led her to believe he kept himself a decent distance away, and stuck to purely non-magical means to defend himself (Butterbeer Molotovs and using your wand as a shank didn’t really count after all).

He was saved from any further interrogation by Dobby popping in, quite pleased to report no one had come snooping around the cauldron or anything else of his. He’d handed over the socks (matching pair of lumberjack plaid this time), and after calming down the ecstatic elf enough to get a word in edgewise, asked him quite politely for a sandwich and some coffee.

Dobby had instead shown up with a veritable mountain of food, right as Harry was pulling his now quite dangerous enchanted blades from their knots. Nothing too bad came of it, other than some coffee getting splattered over a few of Harry’s notes. He and Hermione had shared a quiet snack, and after asking her to please not tell anyone he’d been in Diagon Alley at the time of the attack (he’d already told Mad-Eye the same), he’d climbed into bed to finally catch up on all the sleep he’d been missing.

Well, mostly.

He’d taken the liberty of not only fixing himself up some fake Muggle ID while he was out with Sirius, he’d also ended up running off a TSA Air Marshall’s badge for the old scoundrel. Just in case he needed to use a plane instead of Magical travel. However, now was the first time he’d actually get the chance to use it.

A short bike ride later, and he was standing in the center of an as-prepared-as-he-could-get-it four-way crossroads.

Into the ground the box went, and then the dirt to cover it.

He took a few steps back. All he could do now was…

“Well hello, handsome.”

…Wait. “Hello to you too. Would say it’s a pleasure, but we both know flattery don’t get you nowhere in this business.”

“And you’d be right. There’s only really one price you can pay for whatever it is you want.”

“You’d be surprised. If you will kindly draw your attention to the giant painted symbol you’re now standing in…”

The demon’s eyes flickered black as it took in the Devil’s Trap around it. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Relax; all I wanted was your undivided attention. Do one little favor for me, and I’ll let you go.”

“And what that might be?”

“When I let you out, tell Crowley…Dean Winchester wants to see him.”

“…Very funny.”

“Oh yeah, I’m hilarious.”

“…Dean Winchester _died.”_

Huh. That was new. “…I got better.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Summoning wouldn’t have worked if I put the wrong name in the box. Look for yourself; you’re standing right on top of it.”

She did so.

“… _Impossible.”_

“Im- _probable._ Now, do we have a deal?”

“…Deal. Break the line.”

_SCHWIP!_

“Done. And your end of the bargain?”

“It would be my pleasure. And don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

He was alone again.

Wouldn’t be for long though, if he knew Crowley at all. Guy always seemed to have his ear to the ground; shouldn’t be too different over here. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him if the demon was already on his…

“Dean Winchester. As I live and breathe.”

…Way. “You don’t actually do either of those things, Crowley.”

“Just making polite conversation. Now, forgive me for wondering, but just how is it that one of Heaven’s most valued residents managed to slip back to Earth undetected? And looking to make a deal with me, no less. I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

“I’ve met you. But this is your first time meeting me. It’s complicated.”

“When is it ever not? Now, I’m sure you know time is money, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d really like to get on with things.”

“I know where the Colt is.”

That certainly stopped him in his tracks. “…I beg your pardon?”

“The Colt. The kill-anything Colt. The Colt designed specifically to kill anything in Creation. That Colt. I know where it is.”

“…And I suppose you want to trade it’s location for something you can’t get yourself.”

“Well, I probably could if I had the time, but this way’s just so much faster. I want the Death Eaters dead. Every last one. And all their gold handed over to me, myself, and I.”

“Don’t ask for much, do you?”

“Nope. And I realize that. So here’s what I’m gonna do: I’m gonna let you poke around in my soul real quick, just to see if there’s anything there that shouldn’t be. If there is, tell me if you can remove it or not.”

“If I can?”

“Don’t. Not yet.”

Crowley sighed, and shoved his hands through Harry’s ribcage. “…Well, well, well. Looks like there _is_ a small slip of something. Unfortunately, it looks like something else is holding it in place.”

Bugger. Plan B then.

“Thanks for looking. Now, I can appreciate that getting rid of that many people at once can be a bit of a logistical hassle, so here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna give up the location of the Colt, and you’re gonna get to work. Take your time; I’m in no hurry. But every now and then, I might have a few more of those little slips to trade for some small favors. Mine might not look like much, but it’s bigger than what the original owner has left, so I think its safe to say I got more right than he does.”

“Small favors such as?”

His thoughts flew to Luna. “Fixing up the brain of a friend of mine. Nothing too big.”

“…I suppose I can agree to that. The location?”

“Ah, ah, ah. We seal the deal first.”

Crowley sighed. “Fine. Shake.”

Finally, an improvement over the old world. No kissing here, thank you very much.

“Right. Hunter called Daniel Elkins has the Colt; probably in Wyoming or somewhere thereabouts. Passed down through his family since around 1861. Only four things it can’t kill; archangels are one. It can, however, knock ‘em out long enough for you to make your escape. And yes, before you ask, it can kill Princes of Hell.”

“…Good to know. Anything else I need to be aware of?”

“I’m calling in my first favor. There’s another fragment in the village of Little Hangleton; place called the Gaunt Shack. It’s stuck to a plain looking rock with some symbol chicken-scratched on it. Bring me the rock, and tell me what you know about Dementors, and it’s yours.”

“Done.”

Another handshake.

“All I’ve ever been able to dig up on Dementors was that they were supposedly angels that had their souls ripped out and destroyed. Beyond that, I can’t say.”

Soulless angels. Wasn’t that a terrifying thought. “How’d they survive?”

“No idea. They seem to get by doing the same to others, though. Food for thought. You’ll have the stone by tomorrow.”

“Good. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“One more thing.”

“…Yes?”

“Why me? I’m just a crossroads demon; a damn good one, but still. There’s got to be someone else you could’ve trusted with a literal deux ex machina of a gun.”

“…The only other person I could think of is in America. Probably in college. And he doesn’t need that in his life right now.”

“…I see your point. Good evening to you, Dean Winchester.”

“Same to you, Crowley.”

The demon was gone.

“…Same to you.”


	5. Heaven's Just A Fairy Tale

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

5) HEAVEN'S JUST A FAIRY TALE

_ Accompanying Song: "There Isn't Any God", by Rusty Cage _

“Hello, Harry Winchester.”

“Just Harry, Luna. Still not sure which last name is more mine.”

Luna nodded. “Understandable, I suppose. If you’re here to see Father, I’m afraid he’s in Sweden at the moment.”

“Snorkacks?”

“Hyperboreans.”

“Hate to break it to you Luna, but as far as I know they can only be found in Canada and Alaska.”

“Oh, pooh. I shall have to write Father and inform him immediately.”

“Can it wait for a few minutes? See I…I didn’t come here to talk to your dad. I came here to talk to…you.”

Luna blinked. “…Well, it’s a few years ahead of schedule, but I suppose that’s to be expected. Won’t you come in?”

“Thanks, Luna.”

“Of course, Harry. What are friends for?”

“Are we? Friends, I mean?”

“Why shouldn’t we be? I already knew it was going to happen eventually, and now so do you. We’d just be skipping all the boring steps in-between.”

“…Well, when you put it like that.”

“Would you care for some tea? I think there’s some Oolong still in the kettle.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

He watched as she made her way into the kitchen. Whatever else his host’s memories had made clear to him, it was that Luna either Knew or Saw things she had no business knowing or seeing. And then deliberately acted off-beat just to keep anyone from noticing when she accidentally let something slip she shouldn’t have. A lonely life at the best; he shuddered to think what might’ve happened if she hadn’t made any friends at all in Fifth Year.

He owed it to her to try and keep that from happening.

“I’m afraid we don’t have any whiskey to add in, so would you prefer milk or sugar?”

“Just the sugar, thanks.”

She handed him his teacup, and they both sipped took a sip from their respective drinks.

He went first. “So…you obviously already know how I know about the future. Would it be rude of me to ask how you know the same?”

“Why, not at all. Friends shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. I’m afraid there’s not much to tell; my mother died when I was very young. The official explanation is that it was because of a ritual gone wrong; but I know better, because I was there. What actually happened was she sacrificed herself to kill Kronos, the Titan of Time. When he died, his essence was supposed to have been absorbed and locked away, in the deepest depths of Tartarus. Some of it escaped, and found a home in me. Not nearly enough for me to purposefully use it, but just enough for people to notice something odd about me whenever I said or knew things I shouldn’t.”

“And that’s why the act? The made up creatures and…and all that?”

“Partially. But before I give you a complete answer, I must know: what do you know of the Deathly Hallows?”

For just a moment, the whispers from both the Mark and his wand faded entirely. “…Quite a lot, actually. And what I don’t know, I can take a pretty good stab at. Why do you have to ask?”

“Because the Hallows exist outside of causality; they are not bound to Time, and therefore it is impossible for me to See anything about them; their location, their age, how much information people have on them. Much less when the person I’m asking has himself managed to break Time by apparently traveling outside this world.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I was involved in breaking the laws of physics when Kronos was involved. You’ll be happy to know I managed to kill him in the end. But to get back on topic: can you see exactly where I went? Or what my life was like over there?”

“As you say, I can take a good stab at it. Your choices from here on out are going to be influenced by what you saw or did elsewhere. But am I able to see exactly what happened in that alternate reality, one completely un-synced from our own time stream? I’m afraid not. It’s very irritating.”

“I can see why. But like you said, we’re friends. And friends shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. So, just to be perfectly clear: I know where the Hallows come from. I know who made them. Hell, I practically have the guy on speed dial. I don’t know what their parallels between here and there would be, but I can make some good guesses. Back in the other world, there was a Scythe. And a Ring. Death’s Ring. You wore it, you got the job. Shouldn’t be that different with the Hallows here. Dumbledore has one, the Wand. He won it off Grindelwald. I have the Cloak, right here in my pocket. And there’s a certain friend of mine who’s working to get me the Stone by tomorrow. Plan to stop then, til I find out just what getting all three does to you.”

“It makes you the Master of Death.”

“Well, yeah, I knew that. What I meant was: does it come with any side-effects? Back ho…back there, I mean, wearing the Ring made you permanently invisible until you took it off again. Just wondering if I’d get stuck being invisible forever or something else like that.”

“Not as far as I’m aware. And now we come to the complete answer to your original question: the reason I ask about the Hallows, the reason I even know they exist, why I act so strange, why my mother was the one to fight Kronos…to make a long story short, I rather suspect that the Lovegood family’s job over here is remarkably similar to the Winchester’s job over there. Saving people, hunting things. And keeping the normal people from finding out what’s really going on in the world around them.”

“Like the Statute of Secrecy?”

“Yes, but even more so. There are some things that not even wizards should ever tangle with; Hyperboreans, Snorkacks, Old Ones, Shoggoths, Mi-Go, the Plateau of Leng, Kadath in the Cold Waste…”

He didn’t recognize half the Names Luna was spouting; all he knew was that with each one, the Mark got louder. And _louder._

AND LOUDER.

“STOP!”

He sucked in a deep breath. “…Sorry. Sorry, just…those Names…something tells me I’m not supposed to hear them.”

“…I apologize. I did not foresee you reacting so poorly. But to continue: the Lovegood family was tasked by the original Wizengamot to keep the darkest, deepest secrets of the world hidden in the greatest web of obfuscation ever seen. Even from the Magicals.”

“The truth is such a precious thing, it must at all times be surrounded by a bodyguard of lies.”

“Or words to that effect. So, whenever something from…Beyond…turns up, we concoct the most implausible explanation ever, pretend it’s the truth, and then give the people the actual truth twisted in such a way they think it’s a lie.”

“Clever.”

“The Wizengamot thought so. They even went so far as to create an entire Department of Mysteries, with absolutely no knowledge of our true role, that does its best to publicly debunk the twisted truths we spout.”

“…Huh. The government making the conspiracy theorists the actual conspiracy. I wonder if that ever happened over there.”

“Perhaps. But it doesn’t look like it, from what I can See. What I _did_ See, however, was the deal you struck earlier tonight with the friend you mentioned earlier. And demons just so happen to be on the list we Lovegoods aren’t supposed to ever give out. Which means you have two choices, Harry: you will either join us and assist in our efforts…or you will be killed. The only reason we haven’t already attempted the second is you didn’t actually sell your soul…and you acted as if the demon you summoned was more trustworthy than most.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Just a bit. But killing me? Seems a bit extreme, considering most people would’ve already had ten years left on their own.”

“There was a time we would have opted for Obliviation, but there were too many cases of either taking too much or not enough, so we stopped. Depending on the circumstances, we also used to offer marriage between the offender and a suitable member of the family. It’s how my mother married my father; she used to be a Malfoy, and was willing to do anything to escape that family. Even trade her soul to a demon. Fortunately, my father happened to get there in time, and offered her an alternative. They were very happy together, from what I remember.”

…Bloody hell. And he’d thought he and his host had it rough growing up. Luna had not only watched her mother die, it had happened in a way that could never be revealed to the outer world, and with consequences that made her life even tougher than it was already destined to be. Add an arranged marriage on top of that, and things were just shitty all round.

If he could make her life easier, then he would do so.

He swallowed. “…As much fun as entertainment of the horizontal variety sounds, I don’t think either of us is even remotely ready for _marriage._ Physically, or mentally. And if Crowley holds up his end of the deal, which he should, considering he always did over there…then once I take care of Moldy-Shorts, I’ll be out of a job. Basically, what I’m saying is…I’ll join. After this is all over, and I get my OWLS, Harry Potter will disappear. Probably head to America, pick up Sirius, help your father look for those Hyperboreans. And after that? …Depends on if Heaven decides to start the Apocalypse or not. Oh, as an aside: I’m pretty sure that trying to kill me with anything less than Death’s Scythe wouldn’t work. Not when I have this.”

He rolled up his sleeve.

Luna’s eyes snapped to the newly revealed Mark. “…The Mark of Cain. From here, or there?”

“Can’t say for sure. Got it first over there, but not sure if I brought it back with me, or left it behind and got stuck with this world’s version on the trip back.”

Luna sucked in through her teeth. “…If that truly is the Mark, then I would strongly advise you gather all three Hallows for yourself. If you were to come by the First Blade, I’m not sure even the whole Lovegood family would be able to stop you. The Hallows should at least balance you somewhat.”

“You’d think that. But the thing was nice and quiet right up until I killed that Dementor; and despite having the Cloak with me, it hasn’t shown any signs of quieting down. And when you said those Names earlier, it was practically…yelling at me.”

“Ah. That would be because they’re…oh. You have the Mark, but you never learned what it actually was, did you?”

“Another causality thing?”

“Indeed. The Mark of Cain was originally designed by God and Death to cage the third member of their original group: a being known as the Darkness. The Names that I mentioned earlier are all vestiges of the Darkness’ power; as well as the Dementors. When you killed the one I Saw earlier, you must have reminded the Mark of its original purpose. And having in your possession something made by Death, one of the original binders, would not have helped the problem.”

“It gets worse. Were you able to See what my new wand is made out of? The one I used to kill the Dementor?”

“Only the outer material. Bone, correct?”

“Yep. And the core is the feather…of an archangel.”

“…Let me guess: Michael?”

“Correct.”

“Hmm. Considering Michael was around to help during the caging of the Darkness, I’m going to assume your wand reacted even worse to the Dementors than the Mark did?”

“Yep. In fact, it was the one that started whispering first. And then ordering, when the Dementors came out. And there wasn’t a single thing I could do but do what it said. It was like the Imperius, but worse.”

“…Then despite your best intentions, there is a very good chance it will force you to say yes to Michael if Heaven truly does want to start the Apocalypse.”

“Exactly. If it comes right down to it, I need someone willing to kill me before that happens. It won’t put me down permanently, but it’ll turn me into a demon. Something I know for a fact Michael will refuse to possess. The issue would be moot if Heaven never noticed just what I am; but considering just my little side-trip alone probably threw the Fates’ strings into total chaos, you can bet they’re at least watching me. Which means I need to stay as far away from Heaven’s forces as I possibly can. Now, as much as I’d like to have their help, I frankly don’t trust them to not rip the Mark off and pass it along to one of their own when they go poking around my soul. Unfortunately, that means a bit of the Dork Lard’s soul is gonna be stuck next to mine for a good long while to come. And that’s something that is probably gonna cause trouble down the line.”

“…Horcruxes? He truly went that far?”

“Can’t See those either, huh?”

“Regrettably. How many?”

“Seven, that I know of. Possibly eight, if he’s done it to his snake yet.”

“Can we get to all of them?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard. Since I got more of the Moldy-Shorts in me than he currently does, I have more authority than he does when it comes to making deals. So I traded one part to Crowley for the Stone, which in an utter twist of irony the Horcrux was attached to, and have plans to trade the rest for various things right up until the last piece.”

“The one that’s walking around under its own power.”

“Bingo. I got something very different in mind for that one.”

“Good. Well, as far as I can see, there’s really only one option left. You still need the Hallows, if only because Death might notice their unification and take the opportunity to check in. Maybe he’ll be able to get rid of your Horcrux then. You’re also going to need the First Blade, to kill the final soul piece of the Dark Lord without having to kill yourself as well.”

“How did you…”

“Know that was what you meant by something very different in mind? It seemed logical. But that’s only two parts of the puzzle; to have balance, you need a third. Something that’s purely Light, possibly created by God himself.”

“…I ain’t walking around with the Ark of the Covenant on my back, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh no, I was thinking more along the lines of the tablets. Angel and demon. Not exactly inconspicuous, but still better than that wand you’ve got. Added together, they might just have enough power to stabilize you.”

“…Let’s hope so. Right; got any more questions for me?”

“…Was Kronos’ death slow?”

“No. It was, however, painful.”

“Good. That’s…good. I think. I don’t know.”

“You probably never will. So…is that it? Cause I’m pretty sure I promised to join the family business, and I got something for you to sign as well.”

“You mean the contract you drew up? That should suffice for both sets of requirements, considering you signed it as well. Where is it?”

He pulled the rolled-up parchment from his pocket.

As she signed, just one more thing came to mind. “Any idea how this school year is gonna be different than it was originally meant to be?”

“Quite a few, actually. But if I were to make any revelations, your foreknowledge would inevitably lead to worse outcomes.”

“Figured.”

He rolled the contract back up, and stood. “Thanks for the tea. Don’t get a chance to sit down with a friend very often. Don’t be a stranger at school; might not run the DA this time around, and even if I do, its gonna be very different. Take care, Luna.”

“You as well, Harry.”

* * *

He’d only just gotten the Triumph parked in the attic when he heard pounding footsteps behind him. Sighing to prepare himself for the inevitable lecture coming from whomever had noticed his absence, he swung himself off the saddle…only to be shoved back against the bike by a certain attractive pink-ette currently doing her best to suck out his tonsils. He briefly considered inquiring into the matter, but in the end, when in Rome, it was usually best to do as the Romans do. So he did.

When at last they broke apart for air, he did manage to get one question out. “Not that I’m complaining, but just what did I do to deserve something like that?”

“DO?” Oh crap, Tonks was crying. “DO? DO, HE ASKS!”

“Listen Tonks, whatever it is, I can explain…”

“YOU SAVED HESTIA, YOU MORON! YOU DON’T HAVE TO EXPLAIN ANYTHING TO ME EVER AGAIN!”

And then it was back to the oral surgery.

Oh. Carry on, then.

Now, he wasn’t exactly the best when it came to dealing with crying women. In either lifetime. But at least a crying Tonks he knew for sure wasn’t interested in him as a boyfriend. At least, he thought she wasn’t. Then again, she’d been spending a whole lot less time around Remus this summer…and if she was gonna stick around, he’d have to make a few things clear to her about the werewolf’s natural disposition.

Her Patronus used to be a bear, til she got involved with Lupin. He’d have to check later and see if it looked more like a wolf now.

But that could wait.

For now, all she needed him to be was caring. Caring he could do. He’d been doing it for nigh on forty years now. So he held her close, rubbed her shoulders, and let her do whatever the hell she wanted to do, whether that be kissing or crying.

When at last she seemed to calm down a bit, he took the opportunity to add some soft words to the physical comfort. “Hey, it was the least I could do. Helping people’s kinda my job, after all.”

Tonks gave a hiccupping sob. “It shouldn’t be; it shouldn’t. I should’ve been there…Moody was there, and he couldn’t do anything…if you hadn’t…if…oh Harry…”

And then it was back to the crying again.

He held her til she fell asleep in his arms; a bit of a surprise, considering leaning against a motorcycle wasn’t exactly the most comfortable of positions. Then again, it was well past midnight. She’d probably been beating herself up since Mad-Eye told her what happened, which by his reckoning was about eight hours ago. Not good.

He gently picked her up, making a mental note to do his best to continue rescuing beautiful women if he kept on getting reactions like this. He turned to carry her back down the stairs…

And finally noticed the two very hot-under the collar ladies standing there.

Hoh boy.

Before things could spiral any further out of control, he pushed past the pair of them, doing his best not to jostle Tonks in the exit. If he was gonna have this sort of conversation tonight, he was damned well not gonna have it where it might wake up the Auror who needed all the sleep she could get.

Naturally, Hermione and Ginny both followed him.

He deposited Tonks in her bed, and did his best to tuck her in without getting too handsy. It didn’t help she really didn’t wanna let go of him; s’what he got for acting like a human teddy bear. But in the end, he managed it, and turned back towards the still red-faced girls watching. A finger over his lips indicated quite clearly his desire for silence at the moment, and though they both quite obviously didn’t like it, they complied.

Back to the attic they went. Only thing they’d be disturbing up there was a Hippogriff; and Harry was pretty sure he could take it if needs be.

“Right; fire at will.”

Hermione took the first shot. “So; stayed out of danger, did you? You know, I actually believed Professor Moody when he said that you hadn’t been all that involved. Right up until Hestia Jones came in wailing fit to burst. Killing a Dementor? At close range? There’s only one person I know who’d be suicidal enough to try it. The others might not have put two and two together, but we certainly could.”

“And just how did you manage to overhear what I’m sure was an official Order meeting? Cause I’m pretty sure you’re still not Members.”

Hermione had the decency to blush; Ginny, however, did not. “Doesn’t stop Fred and George, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t heard you giving them any grief.”

“True. But with them, I have what you might call a mutually-beneficial arrangement. You two? You already know how I feel about people snooping on my secrets. Well, you more so than Ginny, Hermione. So what if I got a little more involved than I said? It’s not like I was in that much danger.”

“NOT THAT MUCH DANGER?!!!”

“Hermione, shhhh!”

“I’ll shush you, Harry James Potter! You could have _died!”_

“No, I couldn’t, actually.”

“WHAT?!!!”

“Ginny, please.”

“Oh no you don’t, mister! You don’t just say ‘it’s fine, I can’t actually die’, and expect us to just roll over and accept it!”

“Harry I know your luck is frankly the stuff of legend, but immortality? That’s stretching it, even for you.”

“Believe me, it’s not. And I’m not saying anything else in front of someone who hasn’t signed.”

Ginny stuck her hand out. “Fine. Gimme.”

…Aw to hell with it, he was probably gonna need her in the DA later.

He let her sign.

“Fine. Happy now?”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Far from it, Harry James Potter. Immortality. Explain.”

He sighed. “Long story short, I can’t die until Moldy-Shorts does. And there’s a few other extenuating circumstances beyond that I really don’t want to talk about, since they have world-ending connotations. Suffice to say I’m like ninety percent sure I’m not gonna be dying anytime soon.”

“…That’s it? You went out against Dementors based on _that?_ You moron! Just because you can’t die, doesn’t mean you can’t still get your _soul sucked out!”_

“Actually, this kind of immortality, it does. Even if it’s still bloody painful.”

“YOU LET ONE KISS YOU?!!!”

Damn.

“I had a hunch, okay? And it worked out, see? I’m fine, everything’s fine, Hestia’s fine…wait, hold up. How’d she know someone was there beside her?”

“Just because someone’s eyes are closed doesn’t mean they can’t hear anything, Harry. And seriously? Out of all the one-liners you could’ve picked, you picked one about _bubblegum?”_

“Hey, that movie was awesome. Reminds me of a case I worked once in a bank. Shape-shifters; you would’ve hated it.”

Ginny looked like she’d been hit in the face with a Bludger. “…Shape-shifters?”

“Long story that I have no intention of telling this early in the morning. So, when you say no one else put two and two together, I’m guessing Hestia didn’t recognize my voice. You got suspicious, confronted Tonks, got her suspicious as well, then all three of you went to talk to Mad-Eye, right?”

“…Something like that.”

“Lemme guess: you weren’t expecting her to react like that.”

Ginny gave a very soft ‘no’.

“Tidbit for you: I’m pretty sure Hestia and Tonks were in the same Auror class. They’ve known each other for years, at least.”

“…Oh. So, that was…”

“Honestly, I have no idea beyond ‘very vigorous gratitude’.”

Hermione and Ginny both blushed.

“If it helps, I’m pretty sure she’s interested in Remus, not me.”

Ginny visibly relaxed, whereas Hermione looked…relieved?

Aw hell, not her too.

There was no way on Earth this was gonna end well.

“Now, I can appreciate that we all have very strong opinions on certain things we’ve discussed tonight. But its late, and there’s no way we’re functioning at our best emotionally. So why don’t we just…go to bed, and discuss this in the morning?”

Hermione frowned. “We can’t. Your owl came while you were gone; your trial is set for ten tomorrow morning.”

“Which means it’s actually gonna be at nine, in a completely different courtroom. Thanks for warning me.”

He meant it, too. He knew all about magically binding bracelets; and he fully intended to spit in the face of the Ministry by slipping out of them with a liberal application of silk. Not just good for tying knots.

And if they asked for his wand, well…he’d be more than happy to give it to them.

“In that case, I amend my previous statement. _You_ two are going to bed; I’m calling my lawyer, and then sacking out for as long as I can. Once I proceed to show everyone just how asinine the Ministry actually is, we’ll all go get ice cream at Fortescue’s. Sound fair?”

Ginny beamed. “It’s a date!”

Hermione took longer. “…Fine. But only if you’re paying.”

“Naturally. You don’t think I’d be that rude to a pair of lovely ladies, do you?”

“Prat.”

“Jerk.”

“Wanker.”

“HARRY!”

* * *

Honestly, it was really a shame.

He sighed, and sat down on the bed next to Tonks. “Tonks…”

The only reply he got was a snore.

Sure, he could’ve left her behind. But something told him she’d give him nothing but grief over it later. Especially considering it would be a good chance for her to catch up with her dad.

He gave her a small shove. “Time to get up, Tonks.”

He was utterly unprepared for the arm that came up and dragged him down with it.

Trapped.

“Hermione? Help?”

“Oh no you don’t. You got yourself into this mess; you can get yourself out.”

“Fine. Tonks, if you don’t get up this very instant, I’m going to say your first name.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, that did the trick.

Tonks stretched out, freeing Harry from her grasp. “Chrlie, wht I tld u bout m nme?”

Charlie? Charlie…Weasley?

Huh. Well that explained a good deal about why someone as good-looking as her didn’t have at the very least one boyfriend. Being dumped for dragons probably wasn’t a great confidence booster.

“Sorry to disappoint Tonks, but not Charlie. And unless you want to miss your chance to take me to the Ministry, you’re gonna have to get up.”

Tonks bolted upright in bed. “HARRY?”

“OW! Mind the eardrums, woman!”

“…Harry?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Did…did we…”

“Would it matter if we had?”

“Ye…n…I don’t know…”

“Hmm. Well, for better worse, we, in fact, did not. Now, you have about half-an-hour to get ready if you wanna come with. Don’t expect us to wait on you; business before pleasure, I’m afraid.”

He made to rise, when the same arm from before latched onto his own.

“Harry, wait.”

“Waiting.”

“I just…last night…I was…”

“Tired? Emotional? In desperate need of someone to cry on? Yes to all the above?”

“…Yes.”

“It’s _fine,_ Tonks. You’re worth any amount of tears, mine or yours. And I meant what I said: saving people is my job. And I’ll be keeping a special eye on both you and anyone else you say from now on. Kay?”

“…Okay.”

“And as nice as it feels, I’m afraid I’m gonna need my arm back.”

She jerked away. “Sorry, I just…sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. See you downstairs.”

The door swung closed behind him.

He glared at Hermione. “Not. A word. To Ginny.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

The Auror on duty couldn’t have looked more bored. “Please check your wand for the duration of your visit. You will receive it back once you’re cleared of all charges.”

See? Even the Aurors thought this couldn’t possibly end well for the Ministry.

Still, it was best to play along. He calmly deposited his phoenix-feather wand in the box, and continued on past to where Ted Tonks was waiting.

“An hour early, and a courtroom on the complete opposite side of the Ministry. As you predicted. How’d you know?”

“I know they’d do anything to silence me for good. Up to and including chucking me in Azkaban without a trial. The only reason they’re even bothering is in this case is they need the pretense of legality.”

And oh boy was he about to rip their precious legalities to shreds.

“If you’re that paranoid, why in Merlin’s name did you let them take your wand?”

“Well, for one, I’m pretty confident in the abilities of my bodyguards.”

Ted’s brows furrowed in confusion, before the footsteps behind them heralded the arrival of the two people he’d trusted well enough to come along.

“Hiya Da!”

“Nymphadora? What are you doing here?”

“Escort duty, Da. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on Harry here, seeing as how he’s busy keeping an eye on everyone else.”

“Aye.” Mad-Eye agreed. “Lad needs all the help he can get sometimes. How ye doing, Ted?”

“…Well, Mad-Eye. Been awhile.”

Harry looked from one back to the other. “…Known each other long, then?”

“Oh, you know. Ever since my wife got stuck as his Junior Partner in Auror training.”

“…You know, that explains far too much about certain things.”

“I’m sure. Ready, Mr. Potter?”

“Born ready, Mr. Tonks. Let’s wipe the floor with these amigos.”

* * *

Sure enough, out came the chains and handcuffs.

“OBJECTION! My client is being charged with underage sorcery, hardly a felonious matter. Such treatment is inhumane and harsh!”

Up in the stand, Madame Bones sighed. “I’m afraid I must agree. Minister, have the chains removed.”

He could see Fudge’s eyes twinkle from where he sat. “So sorry Amelia, but I’m afraid it’s impossible to remove them until after the trial is completed. It’s the magic of the things, you see.”

Harry nodded at Ted, who did as he’d been asked. “Just to clarify, the court agrees that my client’s current bindings are in fact unrequired and uncalled for, and were it possible to remove them, they should be?”

Fudge did his best to look solemn. “Yes. A truly regrettable circumstance.”

Time for a little magic trick of his own.

“Regrettable, indeed. Fortunately,” he rubbed his wrists in full view of the court, “Easily rectified.”

“AURORS! THE PRISONER IS LOOSE!”

Harry made a great show of looking wildly around. “Prisoner? Oh Lord, where?”

“YOU!”

Thank Merlin his host had been halfway good at acting. “…Me?”

“YES!”

“Oh no, I’m afraid you must have me confused with someone else. See, I’m not a prisoner. I’m just a fifteen year old schoolboy being railroaded by the ruling government because I’m not willing to lay down and die like they’d prefer.”

Everything erupted after that.

Boy oh boy was he glad he’d told Ted Rita’s secret; for once, this was a trial the media would be on his side for.

Umbridge looked positively murderous; no surprise there. She obviously wasn’t expecting him to call her out on the Dementors, even if it was in a way that sounded metaphorical. The fact there weren’t any witnesses able to definitively state he’d even been in the Alley yesterday beyond Ollivander (and he wasn’t talking) was probably driving her to distraction. From her point of view, this was her last chance before Hogwarts to try and smack him down.

Unlucky for her, Potters and Winchesters both made excellent whack-a-moles. Hit ‘em down, and they’ll just keep popping back up somewhere else.

Madame Bones pounded her gavel on the bench. “ORDER! ORDER!”

It was awhile before anyone actually complied.

When at last she resorted to a cannon blast from her wand, people began to get a general idea just how serious she was. Things quieted down quickly after that.

“It is the opinion of this court that Harry James Potter is not a prisoner. As such, he is not to be subjected to restraint of any type. Am I _clear?”_

She very pointedly directed that last bit to the Fudge and his toad. They sputtered and pouted, but in the end there was really nothing they could do.

Well, aside to come after him from another angle.

Fudge’s eyes began to twinkle. “With the absence of magical restraints, the natural magic of the defendant’s seat can now be used. I make a motion to activate the truth charms upon the box.”

…Bugger. He was really gonna have to think fast on this one.

“I second the motion!” Umbridge.

Madame Bones sighed. “Very well. All in favor?”

To no one’s surprise, the motion passed.

“The truth charms have now been activated. To test, please state something we all know for a fact to be true.”

“I am a student at Hogwarts.”

Nobody missed Fudge’s attempt to mutter ‘not for much longer’.

“Note that the truth charms detected no lie. To demonstrate the detections further, please state a falsehood to the court.”

“My name is Dean Potter.”

That oughta keep ‘em worried for a while.

“…Note that the truth charms detected no lie. Please state another falsehood, if you please Mr. Potter.”

“My birthday is March the Fourteenth.”

“…Note that the truth charms detected no lie.”

Ted took that moment to step in. “If it please the court, it is the position of the defendant that the truth charms have proven unreliable. As such, any and all responses they provide should be proclaimed unacceptable as evidence.”

Madame Bones rapped her gavel once again. “Sustained. All information from the truth charms is to be considered unacceptable evidence. Prosecution, you have the floor.”

“Heh, hem. Mr. Potter. Were you or were you not located at your residence of Number Four Privet Drive at the time of 2 o’clock AM on the morning of August the 1st?”

“I was not.”

“Perjury is a serious offense, Mr. Potter. We have traces of magic being cast at your residence at that time; it would be wise for you to tell the truth.”

“I am. If you like, I could swear a magical oath to the effect that not only was I not in residence at the specified time, but that I have in fact not preformed any magic before or since that date.”

Best not to mention the Point-Me-Charm he’d used earlier.

Umbridge smiled. Not good. “Considering the fallibility of the truth charms applied to the defendant’s chair, would it be a stretch of the imagination to imagine that Mr. Potter himself is causing the problem?”

Madame Bones nodded. “It is possible.”

“Then would it not logically follow that the same effect would apply to any and all magical oaths made by Mr. Potter?”

“OBJECTION! Oaths and charms are completely different fields of magic, Madame Umbridge! The odds of a mere schoolboy being able to outmaneuver something as sacrosanct as a magical oath is an insult and slander of the highest order! The defendant demands Madame Umbridge retract her line of reasoning.”

“Sustained.”

Too little, too late. Umbridge had gotten what she wanted.

Time to go on the offensive.

“if it please the court, the reason I could not possibly have been in residence at the time specified was that my house was in the process of burning to the ground at the time. I’m quite sure the records of both the DMLE and the Muggle authorities will agree on that fact, if nothing else.”

“And just _how_ did your house come to be on fire at the time, Mr. Potter?”

“How should I know? I woke up, saw the flames, and got the Hell out. If there was even any magic cast at all that night, which I doubt, I’d say odds are it was someone trying to kill me in a way that made it look like a tragic accident.”

Odds were, but reality wasn’t. Technically, he hadn’t lied.

Umbridge tsked. “Such a high opinion of your own worth, Mr. Potter. Why should anyone wish to kill you?”

“Oh, lots of reasons. Lucius Malfoy, for one, to get his hands on both the Black and Potter fortunes. Where is the esteemed Lord Malfoy, anyways? I thought for sure he’d be here to enjoy this.”

Fudge sighed. “Oh, haven’t you heard? Tragic circumstance, tragic. Lord Malfoy was found dead in his house this morning. All signs pointed to him being mauled by a wild demiguise. Such an unfortunate fate.”

Demiguise? Oh yeah, the invisible thingies. Invisible plus mauling equals hellhounds. Looked like Crowley was holding up his end of the bargain after all.

“Really? I wish I could say it was a great loss. But considering he’s tried to kill me indirectly three times now by my count, forgive me if I’m a little less than sad he’s gone.”

“HOW DARE YOU SLANDER THE MEMORY OF SUCH A GREAT MAN! I make a motion to restrain the defendant from any further speech!”

“Seconded!”

“All in favor?”

Aw hell.

Time for Plan C.

“OBJECTION! As my client does not stand accused of a felony, any such measures would be not only unlawful, but derogatory!”

“HE IS TOO BEING CHARGED WITH A FELONY!”

“IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO CHARGE SOMEONE UNDERAGE WITH ANYTHING MORE THAN A MISDEMEANOR!”

“ORDER! ORDER!”

Well this was just the biggest shitstorm he’d ever seen.

“MR. TONKS! The court demands to know what you mean by impossible!”

“MADAME BONES! Not only does the law explicitly state that no one found guilty of underage sorcery can be charged as an adult, but it also states that any adult is legally allowed to preform magic in their own residence! It is the opinion of the defendant that this sham of a trial is the greatest of contradictions! You cannot charge someone with underage sorcery, and then expect them to be subjected to an adult-level punishment without them being afforded all the rights of said adult in the magical world! In other words, there’s no legal way for you to do anything to my client other than a fine of at most a hundred Galleons! Pushing for any further compensations will only invalidate the entire case! And considering that is exactly what the Honorable Minister Fudge and Madame Umbridge have attempted to do with my client by planning to have his wand snapped, they have effectively declared my client a legal adult, making these proceedings null and void!”

“AGREED!” Madame Bones’ gavel came down with a resounding finality. “CASE DISMISSED!”

“NOOOOOOOOO! AVA-”

Aw hell. He really should have seen this coming.

“-DA KE-”

They’d pushed Umbridge over the edge. All she cared about now was taking Harry with her.

“-DAV-”

Oh well. Only one thing to do now.

“-RA!”

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

Triple tap.

One dead toad.

Waste of bullets if you asked him.

Smoking gun in his right hand, second wand producing a magical shield in his left.

And no less than four Aurors all pointing their wands in his direction.

Just once, he’d like to find out what he’d done to Fate to piss her off so much.

Well, in this life at least.


	6. Say Your Prayers And Hope You'll Last

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

6) SAY YOUR PRAYERS AND HOPE YOU'LL LAST

_ Accompanying Song: "Welcome Home", by SquigglyDigg _

The Mark was pounding in his head; it’s refrain had never been clearer.

_Kill kill kill kill KILL KILL **KILL KILL…**_

He bit down as hard on his tongue as he could. It was the most he dared to do; any attempt to stab at the Mark itself would probably result in the Aurors opening fire on his position. As it was, that was exactly what Fudge was ordering them to do.

“Kill him! Curse him! Feed him to the Dementors! I don’t care how, just get rid of him!”

“BELAY THAT!” bellowed Director Bones. “Aurors, stand down!”

“Belay that ‘belay that’! I want that insufferable brat to pay for what he’s done!”

As the only two people in the room capable of ordering them around them around continued to countermand each other, Harry took what little time he had to analyze the Aurors in front of him. In front of him and a bit to the left was Dwalish; extremely loyal to the Ministry. Even if said Ministry were under the thumb of a Dark Lord. He’d never fail to follow whichever voice was the loudest.

To his right stood Robards. Definitely at least a sympathizer, if not a full-blown Death Eater. Robards wouldn’t hesitate to curse him first and make excuses later, no matter which set of orders ended up going through.

Even further to the right was Yaxley; the double-agent. Marked, and clever enough to avoid ever having that little fact come to light even in the aftermath of the first war. Yaxley would attack if ordered, but only after everyone else went first. You don’t last long as a traitor without learning how to avoid drawing attention to yourself, after all.

The Auror on his far left was the one he had the most trouble placing; fortunately, she wouldn’t be the one he had the most trouble fighting. Her wand was shaking worse than San Francisco in an earthquake, and the lack of any form of shielding compared to the rest of her compatriots spoke to just how un-combat ready she was. If he were to going to survive what he suspected was coming, he’d do best to focus on everyone else before her.

Robards would be first, then Yaxley, followed by Dwalish. Hopefully he wouldn’t also be forced to deal with any members of the media present that opted to provide the war as well as the pictures.

“MR. POTTER!”

Ah, so Bones had triumphed in her own little cage match. He might just get out of this unscathed after all.

He did his best to ignore the twinge of disappointment from the Mark at the possibility.

“If you would kindly lower your wand, I can assure you no harm will come to you, Mr. Potter.”

His eyes darted around the room, logging exits, bits of cover, and potential hostages (none, few, and Ted). “Have your men lower theirs first, and I’ll be more than glad to follow suit.”

Robards sneered. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter; we have you four-to-one.”

“I like those odds. Wands. Down. Now.”

“…Aurors, stand down! That’s an order!”

Slowly, very, _very,_ slowly, all four hostiles lowered their wands. And slowly, very, very, slowly, Harry copied their movement.

He saw it coming a mile away.

Robards jerked his wand back up in a stabbing motion, one that Harry was unfortunately all too familiar with. _“Reduc…!”_

That was as far as he got before Harry put a bullet through his throat. Couldn’t very well incant without vocal cords or a spinal cord, now could he?

Regrettably, that left three free sets of lungs and brains (plus whatever the Minister had in their place) to pronounce away as much as they liked.

The defendant’s box disintegrated under a hailstorm of curses, all meant to either kill or seriously injure. Harry snorted as he dipped, dived, ducked, and dodged the distinctively lethal array of magic sent his way. Where was Dumbledore’s infamous ‘live and let live’ philosophy right about now? Oh, that’s right. Probably running about an hour behind schedule, since Harry had purposefully neglected to inform the Headmaster of the Ministry’s likely changes to his trial’s time and location. Oh well. At least he didn’t have to worry about being stunned in the back by the old man attempting to stop the fight before it really got going.

He rolled to a stop behind a granite pillar, splinters of stone spraying behind him as his opponents tracked his path. Right; they had him beat in the range department. Time to start getting up close and personal. He reached down into one of the many Bags of Holding (as he liked to call them) that he’d grabbed from Diagon the day before, and then sewn into his inside coat pockets.

“Not the sort of day you were expecting, eh Ted?”

“Believe me, this is tame compared to some of the battles I’ve seen in court.” Came the lawyer’s retort. “But apparently” he nodded at the brush-axe Harry was now gripping tightly, “You came more prepared than I for this sort of exchange.”

“Constant vigilance, man. Constant vigilance. Don’t suppose you happen to have your wand on you?”

“Nope; checked it same as you. And didn’t even think about bringing a spare.”

“Damn. Right then; how good are you with Muggle weapons?”

“Considering my Dad was ex-Military Police, I think I do alright for myself.”

“Then here; catch.”

Wow. Left-handed. Impressive.

“When I say go, poke the barrel around the corner and start blasting. Don’t care if you hit anything, I just need a distraction.”

“How many seconds between shots?”

“Gimme four. Should be plenty.”

“You got it.”

“Then on one; two; three…GO!”

He leapt.

As expected, Yaxley immediately opted to turtle behind a shield. Ever on the defensive, even to the last. And his last it most certainly was. The brush axe bit down into the opaque curve, but caught less than halfway through. The enchantments on it were strong, but not that strong. Give it a few bloodbaths to absorb, and it would be, but for now, Harry would have to improvise.

Yaxley smirked up at him; he obviously believed Harry’s attempt had failed, and that he himself was perfectly safe. Spoilers: he wasn’t.

Thank you Harry Dresden, the second-greatest wizard to ever walk the Earth. Not just for reminding him you could channel magic though more than just wands, but for teaching him there was more than one way to torch a wendigo.

“FORZARE!”

Yaxley screamed as first the blade, then the shield, his wand, and finally his arm lit up like a Christmas tree from Hell. The Auror dropped his wand in shock, all thoughts of defense vanishing as he concentrated all his efforts on extinguishing his now merrily blazing robes. Unfortunately for him, that also meant his shield vanished in a flash of light.

SHUNK!

Two down, two to go.

He yanked the blade from Yaxley’s head and spun, searching hungrily for his next target.

It was pure bad luck that at that very moment, Ted just so happened to run out of bullets.

He was forced to drop the axe and dive for the closest piece of cover as Dwalish and the still-unidentified Auror resumed their previous barrage of spells meant to imperil both his health and general well-being. Well, at least Dwalish did. His companion was now fixated on Ted’s position instead, throwing the occasional stunner in the lawyer’s direction while she did her best to avoid poking her head out in case he began shooting again.

So long as she didn’t switch to any more-lethal options, he was content to leave her be. Dwalish, however, had become quite a problem. One that was in his best interests to remove. He gripped his wand tightly and hoped (really, really, hoped) that he wasn’t as out of practice magically as he feared. Deep breath in…

He rolled.

Deep breath out.

“ _Reducto, Diffindo, Confringo, Expulso!”_

Dwalish stumbled under the sudden assault, the switch to magical combat obviously coming as a complete surprise. He just barely managed to get a shield up in time to block Harry’s first curse; by the time the fourth one connected, it was winking in and out of existence rapidly.

Wham-bam-shang-a-lang, and a one-two boogaloo…

“ _Depulso!”_

Shield-breaker. It didn’t even matter if it connected, if it missed, or if Dwalish dodged it entirely. Because it was immediately followed by…

_SHIIIIIIIING!_

_“AUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!”_

An enchanted dagger hurled right into his femoral artery.

All in all, not bad for someone out of practice.

He turned to engage the last hostile in the room…only to find her cowering on the floor, wand nowhere to be seen, her hands covering her face and head as she curled as tight into herself as she could. She looked so scared lying there…so… _terrified._

_Kill kill kill kill KILL KILL **KILL KILL…**_

This time, he did indeed stab his fingernails in as deep as they would go.

The voice diminished in volume, but not in intensity. He really, _really,_ needed to do something about that. Hopefully Crowley’s delivery soon would help.

Glancing around, it seemed that the assembled moguls of the media were still bunkered down in their nice, reinforced observer’s boxes. Good. Meant he’d be able to get away with quite a lot in his retelling of events later. That is, if he could get Bones and Fudge to go along with the ‘official’ version of the story. Judging by their ashen faces, he didn’t think that would be too much of a problem. He hit the last Auror with a stunner, and sauntered over to where he’d dropped his axe. Swooping it up onto his shoulder, he turned to face the bench. “Well, Minister? Still want to try and get rid of me? Call me crazy, but I don’t think any further attempts along those lines will be good for your life expectancy.”

Fudge merely whimpered and slid even further down in his seat.

“…Mr. Potter?”

“Why yes, Director?”

“…Technically speaking, there are no longer any wands pointed in your direction. Would you mind terribly putting your own away now?”

“Of course, Director. After all, I don’t think I’m gonna be _needing_ it anytime soon.”

Apparently, Bones understood his double-meaning quite clearly. “…No. No, I dare say you won’t. The Ministry deeply regrets any inconvenience it might have caused you, Mr. Potter.”

“And does the Minister share the same sentiments, I wonder?”

“YES!” Fudge squeaked. “Whatever you say! Take the job, take the Ministry! It’s all yours!”

“Why thank you, Minister; I appreciate the offer. But something tells me that wouldn’t make me too popular around here, so I’m gonna have to pass. Now…get out.”

Apparently, Fudge took that order literally. He disappeared in a flash of light, presumably heading for somewhere without extradition treaties.

“…I thought Portkeys didn’t work in here.”

Bones sighed. “So did I. You do realize that he’s effectively just resigned, yes? Technically, I’m now the highest-ranked Ministry official in existence. If I wanted to, I could have you thrown through the Death Arch for what you’ve just done.”

“Yaxley was Marked, Robards was a sympathizer, and Dwalish was always going to go along with whoever acted first.”

“…And just how did you come by those particular revelations, Mr. Potter?”

Improv time. “What, you thought I was gonna walk into the lion’s den without knowing exactly how best to stick my hand down its throat and survive? The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin for a reason, Director.”

“THE HAT _WHAT?!!!!!”_

Oops. Skeeter.

And one, two…five photographers, already snapping away.

“HEY! THAT’S _MY_ KNIFE!”

“Mr. Potter, I can assure you, your knife will be returned to you. But first…”

She banged the gavel three times on the bench. “It is the opinion of the Ministry that Harry James Potter has committed no crime here today, that he was forced to act in self-defense, and that any and all measures he took both during and before the incident are hereby either pardoned or excused. He is also hereby retroactively appointed as Junior Hit-Wizard, with all the rights and privileges of the position. Court adjourned!”

…Well, that was unexpected. To both him, and apparently the bloodthirsty sharks still circling around. Even from here he could see no less than three Quick Quotes Quills hovering over parchments next to their owners, scribbling furiously.

“…Is it worth mentioning you should probably extend those same opinions to a few friends of mine who may or may not have been instructed to take hostages in case things swung the wrong way today?”

“…Well, that rather depends on the friends. And the hostages.”

“The friends would be former Auror Alastor Moody and current Auror Nymphadora Tonks, Director. As for the hostage…just the one, I’m afraid. Fudge’s wife…plus whatever Umbridge was stupid enough to hide in her office.”

“What, no hostage for me, Mr. Potter?”

“I’d like to say Susan’s a friend, Director, no matter what her actions were last year. And even to a guy like me, that’d be pretty cold. Plus, well, I was pretty sure you couldn’t resist an opportunity to stick it to Fudge; even if Dumbledore wasn’t gonna be here to back you up.”

“Mr. Potter, it is _because_ Dumbledore wasn’t here that I was able to risk my political status by dismissing the case. He and I have never seen eye to eye, especially on matters such as his hiring practices.”

“In his defense, Snape was being blackmailed into teaching, and had even less desire to be there than his students. Oh, and Lupin was actually the best professor we ever had, werewolf or not.”

“And the others?”

“…Yeah, I got no excuses for them. Then again, considering the DADA position is cursed, perhaps it was for the best he picked such terrible people. I can’t imagine losing the actual Mad-Eye to something as stupid as that.”

“Neither can I. Well Mr. Potter, I believe I can see my way clear to grant your friends a pardon. Provided they deliver Mrs. Fudge _and_ the retrieved documents to the DMLE offices post-haste.”

“…Ma’am, I hate to tell you, but that’s exactly where they are right now.”

She sighed. “So much for security.”

“Fake interrogations are an excellent way to kidnap people, just as an aside.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind. But for now, I believe we have some circuses to entertain. ATTENTION!”

She let off a cannon blast from her wand. “If someone would be so kind as to return Mr. Potter’s knife and lawyer to him, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to help the Ministry answer any questions you might have.”

He glared at her. “Just for that, I’m making sure you get the big chair.”

“Dumbledore won’t like that.”

“He can shove it. And so can you.”

“A bold offer, Mr. Potter. But I’m afraid my niece would be heartbroken if I got there before her.”

….Aw come on! What was that now, five?

And then the harpies descended.

The reporters, that was. If the Holyhead Harpies had been the ones doing the descending instead, actual harpies would’ve been the last thing he’d compare them to.

* * *

“MMM! MMM! Tonks! Can’t…breathe!”

The Auror merely gripped him tighter. “You _idiot!_ You _moron!_ We told you! We said you needed more backup!”

“She’s right, lad. You shouldn’t have gone in there alone.”

“Alone was the only way I was getting out of there, Mad-Eye. The last thing I needed was anyone stealing my idea of hostages. As it was, I was tempted to leave Ted out of it entirely. Your mum would have skinned me alive if I’d let anything happen to him, Tonks.”

“I’m tempted to do the same right now; lucky for you the Director was on our side.”

“Yeah, sure…luck.”

Mad-Eye clapped him on the shoulder. “Lad, you might as well accept it: luck is your middle name. Good, bad, makes no difference when your name is Harry Potter.”

And didn’t he know it. “The wife spill anything useful?”

Tonks grinned. “Not just anything; everything. We’ve got more than enough to nail Fudge to the statue in the Atrium and leave him.”

“Gonna be a bit hard to do that when he’s probably half-way around the world by now.”

“Damn. Well, at least we can start cleaning out some of the corruption Malfoy left behind. Did you know he just so happened to be mauled to death by a demiguise last night?”

“So everyone keeps telling me. What about the rest of the lucky family?”

Tonks wrapped an arm around and pulled him deeper into the DMLE. “Well, Draco’s too young to take on his old man’s title, so til he grows up, the person in charge of the Malfoy finances is gonna be my very own favorite aunt.”

“Not saying much considering who the other one is, Tonks.”

“You don’t have to tell me. Now, considering Sirius has up and abdicated, that technically makes you the Head of the Black family.”

“Anything special the title comes with?”

“Aside from you-know-where? You can add members back to the family tapestry, or burn them off. Though I’d advise against the second except as a threat for Narcissa; if you kill Bella-Bitch and her husband while she’s still a Black, you get the dowry money back.”

“Good to know. And I’ll be sure to make both you and your mom official again. Anything else?”

“Nope; nothing I can think of. You might want to ask mum; she probably knows way more than me, considering she grew up Black.”

“Inviting me to meet the other half of your parents already, Tonks? Nice. I always did like girls who moved fast.”

He could practically feel the heat radiating from Tonks’ cheeks after that. It didn’t stop her from clapping back, though.

“Oh, I’ll show you fast, slick. How bout we skip straight to dinner with the fam…and then afters?”

“Only if you’re first, my dear. It’s always wise to treat the lady before indulging yourself.”

She shut up after that.

Hang on, was that…

It was.

“If you two don’t mind waiting here for a sec, it looks like my other backup has something waiting for me.”

“Go ahead, lad. It’ll give the lady enough time to cool off, I dare say.”

“Aw, but things were just heating up. Oh well. To be continued, I guess.”

He ducked off down the side corridor, where just a second before he could have sworn he saw…

“Crowley. How’d it go?”

“Masterfully. One Colt, as promised. One soul fragment, also as promised. Hence, one Death Eater exterminated, and one curious rock delivered. Oh, and since you also specified the gold as well, you’ll be pleased to know there was more than enough blood left over to fake a magical signature. In other words, Lucius Malfoy officially named you as his heir in his will, cutting both his wife and his son out completely. I, of course, charged a small retainer as your official go-between.”

“I’d have been disappointed if you didn’t.”

He slipped the ring onto his finger…and immediately felt the shift. The chanting had changed.

_Die die die die die die die die…_

Much better. Suicidal thoughts, he was more than capable of dealing with.

“Thanks, Crowley. Got another trade for you, when you’ve got the time. Definitely not a rush job.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Soul fragment back at my place. Address is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.”

As he’d expected; absolutely no trouble saying the phrase. The Fidelius had passed to him as well. Good; he remembered all too well how easy it made things for traitors.

His mind may have been elsewhere, but his mouth kept right on going. “Jammed inside a locket, one only a Parseltongue can open. Fortunately, I am one. I can’t afford to take it outside the house, so it has to be dealt with where it is. Whenever you care to drop by, I’ll hand it over…and in return, you’ll heal the parents of a friend of mine. The Longbottoms, in St. Mungos.”

“It’s a deal.”

They shook.

“Oh, and useful tidbit: if you don’t want to waste any shots for the Colt, you can melt down angel blades with flaming holy oil and use those instead. Won’t be as effective, but way better for the rank and file.”

“I’ll take that into consideration. Pleasure doing business with you, Winchester.”

And he was gone.

One of these days, Harry was gonna find out how he managed to do that without tripping any Ministry alarms.

But for now, there was a lovely lady to irritate and a gruff Auror to entertain. Or was that the other way round?

* * *

The Auror from his first time through was still on duty. “Have any trouble?”

“Nope, no trouble at all. Free and clear.”

The Auror nodded, and handed him back his other wand. “S’what I thought. Don’t know what they were thinking; even if you did say half the things they been claiming, it’s a free country. You can say what you like.”

“Wish that were true, my friend. And for the record, I ain’t been saying crap.”

“Huh. Well, good luck at Hogwarts, I guess.”

Harry nodded, and passed through the barrier. Unfortunately, entering from the exact opposite end of the room at the same time was…

“Dumbledore.”

“Mr. Potter. I see you are none the worse the wear for the Ministry’s manipulations, despite my own absence from the proceedings.”

“I’m not. But I believe there’s an Auror who I may have inadvertently scarred for life that I’d better find and apologize to.”

“Only the one, Harry?”

“Well, yeah. You can’t really apologize to dead people. Unless they’re ghosts. Or revenants. Won’t do you much good in either of those cases anyway.”

“…How many, Harry?”

“How many what?”

“How many did you kill.”

“Four. Fudge’s toad when she tried to Avada me, and the other three when they decided they’d rather follow Fudge and Riddle than Director Bones.”

“…I see. And am I correct in assuming then that you wish for the Director to take the Minster’s job?”

“Not gonna be too hard for her, considering the statement I gave to the media hounds and the fact that her predecessor elected to resign and retire somewhere only he knew about.”

“…Ah. So that explains all the chaos currently surrounding us.”

“Oh no, that’s just the results of the interrogation of Fudge’s wife, plus the evidence they pulled from the toad’s office.”

“…That must have been some interrogation.”

“Let me put it this way: how would you feel once you found out your husband left you behind to pay the piper?”

“Indeed.” The Headmaster sighed. “Don’t you think its about time you started revealing some of your secrets to me, Harry? I would be more than willing to sign whatever contract you deem necessary.”

“That may be, but I wouldn’t be so willing to say the same about you. That being said, there are some things I can tell you right now. First, Tom hid another of the same as the Diary in a cave somewhere along the coast. One he remembered from his past. Can’t say more than that.”

“I completely understand, my…Harry. In view of your decision to trust me with this information, if you were to assist me in one other endeavor, I believe I could be persuaded to trust you with the truth of how your parents came under scrutiny from…Tom.”

A decision that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the perpetrator of the leak was now dead and gone.

“What endeavor might that be, Headmaster?”

“Oh, just a little persuasion for someone to replace Professor Snape as both Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin.”

Slughorn. Should have figured. “So long as he doesn’t pick Malfoy over anyone else, I think I can help you with that.”

“Excellent! Shall we say, tomorrow? I’m sure you have a lot to deal with today, to say nothing of your own upcoming interrogation at the hands of certain young ladies.”

A cold chill swept through the room.

“And I myself now have a Defense Professor to acquire, since you so unfortunately removed the last occupant of the post.”

Feign ignorance. “Crouch Junior?”

“No, Harry. The toad, as you so eloquently described her. Appointed by our lovely ex-Minister. Perhaps the new one will be willing to lend me someone to fill the position.”

“Perhaps. But I really don’t think you oughta ask for anyone too competent; don’t wanna give the curse any more than we have to.”

“I completely agree, Harry. Perhaps Scrimgeour…”

And with that, the Headmaster continued on his way, lost in thought.

Harry shrugged and kept on going. Like the man said, he had an interrogation of his own to get to. And since Tonks had beat him out of the Ministry by a good half-hour, he was bloody sure they were gonna have more than enough ammunition to lay into him with.

Briefly he wondered if perhaps it would’ve been preferable to let the toad kill him after all.

* * *

Out of all the monsters, apocalypses, and demons he’d faced, there was no doubt this coming confrontation would be the most dangerous one of his life.

He sucked in his breath, squared his shoulders…and marched in.

“HARRY!”

Thank goodness Tonks had gotten it out of her system beforehand; he didn’t think he could handle three strangleholds at the same time. As it was, he was pretty sure he’d heard something crack when Hermione and Ginny had wrapped themselves around his arms and ribcage.

“Not that I’m complaining ladies, but don’t you think we oughta sit down? We’re kinda blocking the _OW_! OW OW OW OW OW!”

Being pulled along by one’s earlobes was definitely not his idea of a good time. Add on to that the rather forceful grip Tonks had on the back of his shirt collar, and he was practically being floated across the room to their table.

He hit the chair with a final yank from the two on his ears and shove from the one behind. He barely had time to notice there was already an alarming number of empty ice cream bowls on the table before they were laying into him like a windmill in a tornado.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER! YOU CAN’T JUST EXPECT US ALL TO STAND BY…!”

“HARRY YOU BLOODY IDIOT! TONKS AND MAD-EYE WERE BOTH THERE; YOU SHOULD HAVE…!”

“HARRY YOU ABSOLUTE ARSE! IF YOU THINK YOU’RE GONNA BE LEAVING ME OUT OF YOUR ESCAPADES AGAIN, YOU…!”

And so on it went. For at least seven minutes. Harry really, really hoped they’d had the foresight to silence the area around them beforehand. But he doubted it.

In the end, when they’d managed to get most of it out of it their system, he sighed, leaned forward, and as honestly as he could, said, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”

And apparently, that was enough.

He found himself buried once more by two female shapes, each occupying half of his lap. Oops. Crying again. Not good.

He gently brushed the hair out of each of their faces, and then gave them a quick kiss on the top of the head. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m fine, everything’s fine. You’re right; I can’t do everything by myself. We’ll deal with what’s coming; together.”

He pointedly smiled in Tonks’ direction. “All of us.” And winked.

The Auror’s hair turned just a shade darker pink.

“Now, I believe I owe you all at least some explanation for what happened to me this summer. Tonks, would you mind throwing up some privacy charms? I’d help, but as you can see, I’ve got more important things to take care of first.”

He pretended not to notice Tonks’ grumbling about ‘taking care’ of her ‘own important things’.

“Try _Muffliato;_ original spell, and the only other person that knew it is dead.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Just Snape. Crafty bugger, enough to invent his own curses as well as Potions.”

Hermione hiccupped. “You…really should call him Professor Snape (hic), Harry.”

“Don’t push it, Hermione. I have just barely enough respect for the man to refrain from calling him Snivellus; Snape is as good as I can do.”

Ginny gave a half-sob, half-laugh. “Snivellus. That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, its what the Marauders use to call him. Did I ever tell you all who the Marauders actually were?”

Tonks and Ginny both shook their heads.

“Right; well, back in their third year of Hogwarts, Sirius, Lupin, my dad, and one other chap all got together and decided…”

He talked for a good three hours, making his way through not only his parents’ time at Hogwarts, but also the truth of his own upbringing and how the childhood of his host on the other side had in its own way been just as bad. Ghosts, wendigos, demons, angels, Leviathan, the Apocalypse, Purgatory, the Gates of Hell, Metatron, Voldemort, soul fragments…everything but the Mark of Cain, his Horcrux, and the Hallows. The very last thing he needed was for them to think him suicidal.

By the time they were done, the pile of bowls had grown into a small mountain; Harry handing off however much gold Tonks needed each time she got up to order for them. He really needed to get something for her to say thank you for all she’d done; hell, he needed to get something for all of them. And he had more than a few ideas.

Hermione and Ginny had gripped him tighter and tighter throughout the entire recounting; he was pretty sure they’d cut off circulation to his arms completely. All three girls were now bleary-eyed from crying, Tonks included. When at last he finished, there was a long silence where no one said anything at all.

In the end, it was Tonks that broke first. “I’m gonna kill Dumbledore.”

Harry sighed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line, darlin’. I got first dibs; and after that, probably Neville.”

Ginny sniffled. “Neville? What for?”

“Because I think his parents were attacked for the same reason as mine. And Dumbledore was the one who failed to protect either set.”

Hermione wiped at her eyes. “What was the reason?”

“Can’t say for sure yet; whatever it is, it can’t be good if Dumbledore still refuses to let me know.”

Tonks growled. “I’ll show him a bloody refusal. Right; it’s clear from…from what you’ve told us…that you’re more than capable of surviving on your own. Even in places like…Hell. But when you get…attached…you’ll willingly throw yourself in front of a bus to save someone. And we absolutely refuse to let you do that.”

Hermione and Ginny nodded viciously in agreement.

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do. The minute we get back to you-know-where, all three of us are moving into the rooms beside and across from your own.”

“The harridan’s not gonna be happy about that.”

“That _harridan_ is my mother, Harry. But you’re right; she won’t be. But that’s not gonna stop us, is it?”

Hermione shook her head. “Definitely not. You need people around to keep you from doing something stupid, Harry. If at least one of us is around at all times, that’s at least one person to keep you grounded.”

He gracefully refrained from pointing out that hadn’t helped them out that much in first year. “What about Ron?”

“What about him?”

“The harr… _Mrs. Weasley_ is gonna want him to room with me. And we all know how his way of thinking can drag me down with it.”

To say nothing of last year’s fiasco.

Hermione sighed. “I know; and we can’t afford that. He’s not gonna be happy.”

Ginny hugged him a little tighter. “Leave it to me, you guys. I’ll take care of it.”

Harry smiled. “You take care of me, and I take care of you. Sounds like a bloody fair deal, considering I’m worth a lot less than any one of you.”

Hermione and Ginny shared a look. Then Ginny reached up, and dragged his lips down to meet hers.

Mmm, strawberries.

He was still savoring the taste she’d left behind when Hermione pulled him in for a kiss of her own. Vanilla this time, with a hint of cinnamon. Then again, that could just be the ice cream.

And finally, Tonks followed it up with a full-on-snog. He’d know the taste of whiskey anywhere; somehow, he didn’t think _that_ was an ice-cream flavor.

“Still think we’re worth more than you, Harry?”

“…Nope. Not at all. Now, I _know_ it. And if you keep doing things like _that,_ I’m pretty darn sure that knowledge is only gonna grow.”

Ginny wiggled in his lap. “Oh, so we’re calling it knowledge now, are we?”

“GINNY!”

“Of course, Ginny. You know anything else that gets Hermione that worked up?”

“HARRY!”

Tonks was laughing. Then Ginny was laughing along with her, and finally Hermione broke and followed suit. He didn’t last long after that either.

What a sight that must have been to someone not in on the conversation; four people all howling in silent laughter. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to see for himself, because his own tears chose that moment to completely obscure his vision.


	7. Somebody Help Me Dig These Graves

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_Author’s Note: In case you haven’t figured it out yet, my taste in music is completely and utterly whacked._

* * *

7) SOMEBODY HELP ME DIG THESE GRAVES  


_ Accompanying Song: "Graves", Whiskey Shivers _

They had just strolled out of Fortescue’s when they were intercepted by what looked to be a very official-looking owl.

“That’s a _Gringotts_ owl, Harry.” Whispered Tonks. “I think even Madame Bones has only ever gotten one once or twice; they’re used for _very_ confidential and highly-sensitive messages. Not the sort you want anyone else knowing who it’s for, much less what’s actually in it. Take the letter, _quickly,_ but don’t open it. Here; let’s get out of sight.”

Harry willingly allowed himself to be pulled along by the Auror, but not before glancing behind to make sure Hermione and Ginny were following. Leaving one of them to stand as lookout was an idea, but an ultimately pointless one. And besides, the last thing he wanted to give was the impression he trusted one of them less than the others.

Once Tonks had scanned the rather dingy side-alley she’d pulled them into, and thrown up a few security charms to boot, she gave a short nod in his direction. “Okay; open it.”

He ripped through the seal.

…As expected. “Notification for a will-reading. Lucius Malfoy’s. I’m invited.”

Hermione’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ew. As if you’d ever accept anything that tosser left you; probably something horribly insulting.”

“Or something horribly dangerous.” Tonks pointed out. “Could be a trap.”

Harry sighed as he once more read the name at the top of the parchment. “Could be. But I seriously doubt it.”

“And why’s that?’

“Cause neither this letter, nor probably the will itself, make any mention of Harry Potter whatsoever. They do, however, mention Dean Winchester.”

Stupid Crowley and his stupid forgeries.

“…This is a problem.”

“Yeah no crap, Hermione. I walk into that reading looking like this, and if I’m not immediately thrown out on fraud charges, within half-an-hour the ferret’s gonna be spilling the beans about my identity crisis to the Dark Wanker himself.”

“I think you should be just a little bit more-concerned about the fact that not only did a high-ranking Death Eater apparently _know_ about your little name change, but for some reason saw fit to _include_ it in his _last will and testament._ Unless there’s another Dean Winchester running around somewhere, and the Gringotts owl got the two of you mixed up (which comes with its own set of problems), it’s entirely possible You-Know-Who already knows _everything.”_

“Impossible, on both counts. For one, this world’s Dean Winchester died years ago, which is something I probably need to look into now that I think about it. And for another, Malfoy wasn’t the one who knew my other identity. That was someone I knew in the other world that I looked up here, and was willing and able to forge Malfoy’s will for me…for a price, of course. Worth it too, since it seems not even the Goblins can detect anything wrong. It was just poor communication on my part that’s put my alter ego fairly in the crosshairs.”

“…Harry, we love you, but _maybe_ you shouldn’t go around discussing the forgery of wills in front of people like oh, you know, an Auror.”

“…Fair point, Gin. Suppose I shouldn’t say anything about how I also paid off the same guy to knock off Malfoy in the first place, then?”

“You _WHAT?!!!”_

Harry rubbed his poor ruptured eardrum. “Hey, so I still held a grudge for our second year; can you blame me? Sides, it’s the principle of the thing. No one crosses my family and gets away with it, not if I’ve got anything to say about it.”

Hermione hauled off and slapped him. “YOU _IDIOT!_ They’re gonna find out! The Ministry _just_ went to the extreme lengths of rigging an entire _trial_ just to get rid of you; and now you’ve gone and given them everything they need to lock you up in Azkaban and THROW AWAY THE BLOODY KEY!”

She was hyperventilating.

“Hermione, _breathe._ It’s _fine._ As far as anyone knows, Malfoy died in a wild demiguise attack. And if they dig any deeper, they’ll just assume one or more of his creditors found out his funds took a terminal dip after a whole lot of confiscation by the Goblins. Something Mad-Eye was responsible for, I might add. Not me. No money, no bribes, no value. Shoot, they might just end up clamming up once they realize it might have been the Dark Lord who ordered the hit, considering Malfoy _did_ kinda mess up big time in that department. All I did was…take advantage of the chaos. And the guy I hired is the best in the business; he wasn’t stupid enough to do the job for anything the Ministry could track even if they tried.”

“And just what _did_ he do it for, Harry?”

“What you probably would’ve done it for, Hermione: information. A lead. A location, to be exact. The location of one of the few things solid-gold guaranteed to do in Riddle once and for all.”

“… _The Colt.”_

He snapped his finger guns right at her. “Bingo. Guy has as much reason as us to want Riddle gone; Dark Lords are bad for his line of business. I couldn’t get to the Colt myself (not that I told him that); he could. He didn’t know where it was; I did. One done deal later, and Riddle is down a lieutenant and a sack-full of gold, and we’re up a potential ultimate weapon. Bloody fair deal, if you ask me.”

Personally, he wasn’t betting on the Colt to get the job done. Sure, it probably could and would kill the bastard if he actually managed to land the shot. But he’d played his hand with the toad; it was only a matter of time before Riddle heard about the events earlier that day, and once he did, his bag of Muggle tricks would become just that, tricks. No longer the secret weapons he’d hoped they’d stay. Nope, the only way he was gonna finish the job was with something Riddle couldn’t possibly shield or protect himself against. And aside from the Elder Wand, the only decent option left was the First Blade.

Somewhere during that wreck of a train of thought, Tonks had apparently closed what little distance there’d been between them, and was now staring down at him with fire in her eyes. “So, just to sum up. You arranged for not only the cold-blooded murder of Lucius Malfoy, but also for the forging of his will, _and_ the retrieval of a potential way to do in the Dark Lord himself?”

“…Yep, that bout sums it MMPH!”

Again with the tonsils!

“You know, I have half-a-mind to tear you limb from limb for not telling us, and half-a-mind to throw you down right here and have my way with you.”

“TONKS!”

“What, like either of you weren’t thinking the exact same thing?”

Hermione’s and Ginny’s blushes were all the answer either of them needed.

As much as he’d like to keep his mind in the gutter, at the moment, he couldn’t afford to. “As appealing as the second of those options sounds Tonks, I kinda feel like we got other things to do first.”

“More important ones?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Now did I say that?”

“Prat.”

“Jerk. But yes; as much as I’d like to rub the ferret’s face all up in it, I really don’t want him or anyone else putting two and two together. So, looks like we’re going shopping.”

Ginny’s face twisted in confusion. “Shopping? What for?”

“A disguise, duh. Some fancy robes, few doses of Aging Potion, and a little trick I know of that’ll do away with the need for these coke-bottles on my face once and for all.”

“But Harry, you won’t look like _you_ without your glasses?”

“That’s kinda the point, Hermione. Don’t worry, I plan on keeping the frames, if only to confuse the hell out of people when I take ‘em off right before a duel. Maybe enchant ‘em too; tired of Potion fumes making my eyes water, night vision would be nice…”

“Getting side-tracked, Harry.”

“Right. Anyway, don’t want anyone picking me out in a crowd by my eyewear anymore. The scar I can cover with a hat, but Draco knows me well enough to see through that trick. I know for a fact Gringotts doesn’t check for Potions that alter your appearance, and since Polyjuice is kinda hard to get ahold of, it’ll have to be Aging Potion.”

“Um, actually…”

“Yes, Hermione?”

“I…kind of…sorta…started stockpiling Polyjuice ever since our second year.”

“…Hermione, you have no idea how bloody much I want to kiss you right now. And the only reason I’m not is cause I probably wouldn’t be able to stop once I got started.”

Hermione turned beet red.

“That being said, we should probably still stick with the Aging Potion. Knowing my luck, whoever’s hair we ended up pulling for me to use would inevitably end up being in the bank at the exact same time as I am. And two of the same person walking around at once never ends well for anyone involved.”

“And just what time _is_ the will-reading Harry?”

“Keep your shirt on Tonks, I’m getting to that. I think the letter said…yep, here it is. Tomorrow, at ten in the morning. Plenty of time to get ready. And no need to break into our Hermione’s emergency Potion supplies.”

“ _Our_ Hermione’s, Harry?”

“Yup. Face it, you’re stuck with us. You’re ours, and we’re yours. For as long as you’ll have us. Right gang?”

Ginny nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Team Free Will, just like you said, Harry.”

Realization dawned on Hermione’s face. “…Oh. So _that’s_ what you meant by family…”

“What?”

“Oh nothing. I’ll tell you later, Gin.”

“Huh, hum. If we could get back on topic now?”

“Sorry, Harry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Now, I’d normally say that splitting up to cover more ground would be the play, but considering I’m me, it’d probably be best to have as many people around as possible to haul me out of whatever trouble inevitably ends up with me in the middle of it.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Only probably?”

“Fine. More than bloody likely. There; better?”

“Much. Continue.”

He gave an exaggerated bow. “As my Princess commands. So, we’re hitting the Apothecary first, then Twilfitt and Tattings.”

“Not Madame Malkin’s?”

“Too many people, and I really don’t wanna be recognized. You three can all pick out a couple things on me while we’re waiting; especially you, Tonks.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Cause you’re the absolute best escort I can think of to take along as a plus one. Even if they don’t let you in, I’d still feel better knowing you were there.”

“Aw, he says such the sweetest things, doesn’t he girls? And Aunty Narcissa is gonna flip when she sees who you turned up with, even if she doesn’t know it’s _you_ you.”

“Hmm. I’ll bet.”

“Harry? I have a question.”

“Of course, Princess.”

“Narcissa. Mrs. Malfoy, I mean. In the…other world…was she an actual Death Eater? Mark and everything?”

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“Well, Malfoy can’t possibly have managed all the finances all on his own. And if Narcissa’s smart enough to do that, maybe she’ll be smart enough to jump ship now that her security net is gone. Maybe you…could…write up another contract for her to sign? And then you could get all the benefits of her…expertise…and her…experience.”

This time, he really _did_ snog her. Hard.

He successfully ignored the whistling from Tonks, but in the end, he and his partner both still had to come up for air.

“And that, Princess, was a reminder that I love you for your mind just as much as I do for your looks.”

All Hermione could manage in reply was a rather good imitation of a fish out of water.

“…I think you broke her, wonder boy.”

“Eh, it’ll wear off eventually.

He was ashamed to admit he’d completely forgotten about Narcissa; especially after she’d saved the life of his fictional counterpart. And if she’d done it because he’d saved Draco’s first, who cared? No one was counting. If he could level with her about certain…things (hmm, hmm, Slytherin Sorting Hat), then just maybe she’d do the same in return. More ammunition to use against the idiots in the Ministry.

He couldn’t help it; he pulled Hermione in for another massive kiss.

Fortunately, it seemed to be the exact stimulus her system needed to reboot. “Hmmm….Harry…”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Don’t we have shopping to do?”

“Drat. Was hoping you wouldn’t remember that. But trust me, Princess, we _will_ be revisiting this topic later. But until then…onwards!”

“Uh, Harry…”

“Don’t tell me angel, I’m forgetting something else, aren’t I?”

Ginny hung her head. “Uh, yeah…Fred and George…may have mentioned they were planning on becoming Animagi. And that there’s a Potion you have to take to see if you can find your form. One of the reasons I remember is cause they mentioned it enhances your vision as a side-effect. Beyond what’s allowed in Professional Quidditch. Is that what you’re planning on taking?”

“Yep, and not just cause it’ll fix my eyes. It’ll give me a knock-off version of Occlumency to boot. Not the real thing, but just as good at keeping Legilimencers outta your head.”

The trail of logic might as well have been trodden into Hermione’s deep brown eyes for how much it stood out. “Dumbledore! _That’s_ why he believed you about keeping You-Know-Who out of your mind; he thought Sirius had already slipped you the Potion!”

“…I have to admit, I did not think of that. Well done, Princess.”

Tonks frowned. “But if you haven’t taken it yet, just how _have_ you been keeping You-Know-Who out?”

“Easy; I just drop him in the deep end of forty years in Hell and watch him try to swim.”

Really, what was there for them to say to _that?_

“Relax; I’ve lived through worse. But he hasn’t. And he doesn’t think _I_ have. Ergo, he thinks it’s a fake memory, just like real Occlumency, and keeps well clear of my noggin. For now, anyway. The Potion _will_ help, though. No doubt about it. And as to the Quidditch…well, long story short, I’m giving it up.”

He might as well have announced he was giving up magic entirely to become a balloon animal clown for the dumbfounded expressions he got.

He hurriedly tried to explain himself before they hauled him off to St. Mungo’s. “You see, Dean Winchester, he wasn’t…let’s just say he had good reason to hate flying, and leave it at that. And, well, let’s face it: I really need to catch up on my Potions, Runes, and Herbology. Seeker position’s all yours, angel. Shoot, I’ll even buy you a new broom just to make sure you get the job. Probably a Firebolt…”

This time, it was Ginny that looked like she needed a reboot. “Seeker….broom…buy…?”

Tonks smirked. “That’s two for two, wonder boy.”

“Oh shut it, you overgrown pixie. Hey! Gin! _An-_ gel! You in there!”

…Oh well. If it worked for one…

“MMPH!”

…It would work for the other. “Right! Any more questions?”

Naturally, all three immediately stuck their hands in the air (Ginny a little slower than the others, but still).

“Your concerns have been noted, and will be addressed at a later date. Now, grab on to someone, and we’ll be on our way.”

No surprise they all decided to grab onto _him;_ what _was_ surprising was just _where_ a certain someone decided to aim for.

“AAA! Tonks! Not funny!”

The Auror merely grinned. “Had to get mine in somewhere, Harry.”

“…Fair enough. All together; forward, march!”

* * *

“I still don’t understand how absolutely no one realized it was you for the entire day.”

“Well, for one, I was surrounded by three of the prettiest and smartest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m quite sure anyone with a single brain cell would have been more focused on you than they were on me.”

Tonks slugged him. “Flatterer.”

“Flirt. And secondly, well, no one expects the Boy-Who-Lived to walk around in flannel and leather, now do they?”

“Point.”

He shifted his arms so as not to drop Ginny. Somewhere along the line, she’d ended up riding him piggyback while the other two decided to settle for holding his hands. Slightly uncomfortable, it may have been, but totally worth it.

Plus Ginny was just too cute when she was sleepy.

“R w thr yt?”

“Almost, angel. Not far now.”

She just yawned and snuggled into him by way of reply.

Too cute.

Even Hermione and Tonks were dropping the occasional sappy glance her direction.

She’d completely passed out not long after exiting the Cauldron; after all, she had been up just as late as the rest of them, any being the youngest probably wasn’t helping matters. In fact, she’d only begun to stir once their ride on the Knight Bus was well over with. Amazing that anyone could sleep through that deathtrap on wheels, but somehow she’d done it.

Color him impressed.

Now, if they could just make it through the door without…

CRASH!

….Disturbing anybody. Damn. The troll umbrella stand.

“FILTH! BLOOD-TRAITORS! VERMIN!”

Tonks cursed from her position on the floor. “Oh will you shut it, you stupid bint!”

Said bint, of course, paid her no mind whatsoever.

Aaaaaand here came the cavalry.

Moody, the harridan, the harridan’s poor downtrodden husband…Bill and Fleur? What were they doing here this early in the day? Shouldn’t they have been at work?

His thoughts immediately jumped to the library. And then away as soon as he realized all the wards were still giving him the all-clear.

Still, the whole thing smelled rotten. Something wasn’t right here; something to do with the…

“Where’s the elf heads?”

The harridan puffed herself up to deliver the usual condescending explanation. “Well you see dear, there’s more Dark Magic in this house than just in that terrible library. And those heads really were a disgrace, we just couldn’t let…”

He’d heard enough. If the bint had thrown out the Locket as well, he’d throttle her personally. “KREACHER!”

POP!

“Bad Master be’s calling poor Kreacher?”

“Kreacher, did these people throw out anything they shouldn’t have?”

The little elf hung his head. “Yes Master; Kreacher wasn’t strong enough to stop them. But the nice Auror Moody helped get most of it back.”

“Only most? What’s missing?”

“Bad Fletcher took the silverwares, Master. The nice Goblin forged ones; not fit for trash like him…”

He just barely resisted the urge to sigh in relief. “I quite agree, Kreacher. As of this moment, Mundungus Fletcher is banned from this house. And Kreacher, you’re free to pick yourself out a place to display all the things you and the ‘Nice Auror Moody’ managed to save.”

“…Maybe Bad Master be not’s so bad afters all. Kreacher be’s doing as Okay Master says.”

And with that, the insane blighter popped away. And Harry turned his full wrath on the Morrigan that seemed hell-bent on ripping Grimmauld Place to shreds.

“Just because other people are willing to put up with your crap and let you stomp all over them like floor mats, does _not_ mean I’m gonna let you do the same to me, you bloody hag. Or to anyone else I care about. Sirius may have hated that elf; and maybe you do the same. Believe me, I got more reason than most to want him dead. But he’s an _elf._ He can’t help what he’s become. But _you_ could’ve. Let him have what’s his, and let him have it in peace. Do anything like this to him or me ever again, and I’ll have you spitting pavement out between your teeth. Now SHOVE OFF!”

They shoved.

“…Thank you, Harry.”

“For what, Angel?”

“For…that. Putting Mum in her place. She’s been like that as long as I’ve been alive…and after fifteen years of it…”

“Completely understand, Angel. Don’t worry; she won’t be doing it again.”

She opted to kiss him instead of thinking him again. And he was totally cool with it.

When they finally broke apart, his eyes drifted first to the chuffed-looking ex-Auror standing at the end of the room…and the surprisingly contemplative-looking portrait beside him.

“YOU! Boy!”

“My name is Harry, _ma’am.”_

Walburga merely sniffed. “Harry. Horrid, common name. Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Don’t play daft, boy. It’s no good against other Slytherins. What you said to the ginger harpy! About spiting pavement through her teeth!”

“Not a word. What I actually meant was ‘take from my family again and they won’t ever find the body’. But I’m not about to announce that aloud to anyone I don’t trust, am I?”

“Ah, but that’s the thing boy! There’s _never_ anyone you can trust! Remember that for the future!”

“The future?”

“Of the House, boy! Just because I speak loudly, doesn’t mean I’ve gone deaf or blind. That no-good son of mine made you the Head, didn’t he?”

He bristled at the insult. “And what if he did?”

“Then it’s the first bit of sense I’ve ever seen from the lad! Oh yes, the House of Black is going to go _far_ with you in charge, oh yes I can see that clearly. But you’ll need an advisor! Someone to guide you through the murky world of politics!”

‘’What, like you? No thanks, I was thinking more along the lines of your nieces.”

“HAH! Good taste in women, even better! My nieces were the finest daughters the Black family ever produced, the disgrace Andromeda included! They’ll do you proud! But boy, as good as they were, they were never the Lady Black. There’s secrets in this house not even Kreacher knows about; things you can use to build this House back up to its former glory. If you are willing to use them, I will swear to never insult either you or the…company…you keep, for as long as I remain here. Well, boy? Do you accept?”

“…Sounds good to me. Deal.”

“HAH! And again, HAH! Take that, Orion! Thought I’d be useless stuck here as a painting, did you? The Blacks always survive, even when one of their own decides to sabotage from within! No matter which side wins or loses, the Blacks always come out on top!”

Orion…the name rung a bell. “Your late husband?”

Walburga sniffed again. “Yes, may he rest in pieces, weak-willed scum that he was. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for his brother Cygnus and sister-in-law Druella, this place would have fallen down around our ears long since. I knew it would be trouble the minute he decided to saddle my first-born with his middle name. But that’s all done, now; Sirius was apparently just smart enough to realize he wanted to be _nothing_ like his father. It was unfortunate to the extreme that he decided to expand that definition to include me, as well.

“…Yeahhhhhh….unfortunate….We’ll…talk…later. Need to check in on some…business dealings, and some…other things. Yeah, other things.”

“Then off with you! And don’t disturb me again, until you have need of my services!”

Tonks muttered under her breath. “Easy for you to say; you’re not the one with a bewitched troll foot following you around…”

Walburga perked up at that. “Troll foot? Oh yes, I forgot. I had that old thing deliberately enchanted to trip up your mother should she ever decide to visit again. I’m glad to see the curse has managed to hold this long. I can reverse it, if you so wish. For a price.”

“Name it!”

“Tsk, tsk. Not much of a Black when it comes to negotiation, are you? Oh well. Let us hope your paramour makes up for it. My price is this: a visit. From your mother, and her…husband. Young Harry will have need of their services, and at the moment, they are the only other Blacks I fancy will be allowed in.”

“You got that right….alright, I’ll do it. Now, tell me how to get rid of the hex…”

Harry turned away from what was bound to be a very boring discussion. If the twins were back yet, he could check in on then and see if they’d come through with his ‘special order’. And just what they already knew about the Animagus transformation, to see if it lined up with what Sirius had told him…

Unfortunately, he was stopped dead in his tracks.

“Got something I feel you oughta see, lad. Noticed it in the elf’s things, while the harpy was going though them. Alarmed me so much I decided to help the little bugger get it all back just to check if I’d missed anything else.”

“…Ah. I think I can guess what it is, then. Another one?”

Moody just continued to regard him coolly. “You knew.”

“I suspected. Different worlds, things might have played out differently. If it helps, I already sent Dumbledore off after the only other place it might have been. I was going to check myself this evening, after everyone else had conked out.”

“Is that so? Shame. I would’ve liked to rip you a new one for leaving the thing lying around where anyone could come along and grab it. Aw, who cares. I’ll do it anyway. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, LAD!”

“Geesh, I wasn’t, I wasn’t, okay? I’m sorry! And I figured, I dunno, if Kreacher got to see it destroyed, it might, I dunno, make him a little less crazy. And sad. Did he tell you where it came from?”

“Aye, lad. That he did. Some story. And I made him recite the whole thing back to that horrid painting this morning. Gave her a whole new perspective, it did.”

Harry snorted.

“…Fine, mostly a new one, anyway. And you had better thank your lucky stars things worked out the way they did, or I’d probably have been shoveling corpses off the steps when you got back.”

“Doubtful. Thing won’t open without a Parseltongue.”

“You sure of that, lad? Need I remind you, different worlds.”

“…Yeah, that’s fair. I already leveled with the girls one hundred percent; guess I’d better do the same with you. Tonight. I got someone coming who’s a sight better prepared to deal with that thing than wither me or you.”

“Didja tell ‘em the Secret?”

“Doubt I needed to. But yeah. He’s trustworthy; and slippery. That fella I ditched you for in the Ministry earlier today; he was just letting me know he got rid of another one of those things last night.”

“Quick worker.”

“It helps when you have good incentives. So don’t worry about it; he’ll be here tonight, and when he gets here, you can watch the whole thing. Because there’s no way in Hell I’m letting you take that thing through the heart of London just to hand it off to the Goblins.”

“Wise decision, lad. Just remember: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

“Right back at you, old timer.”

“Now, you best be getting on with your ‘business dealings’. Give the twins me regards, will you?”

“…How did you…”

“I’m an Auror, Harry. I always do.”

Something flashed through his mind at that. “Hey Mad-Eye…”

“Yes, lad?”

“Just curious: what does a Boggart actually look like?”

The Auror fell silent, seemingly weighing each word carefully before he replied. “It looks…well, it looks like…ye kin what a Dementor looks like, aye?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, a Boggart, in its true form, looks like whatever the hell the exact opposite of a Dementor is.”

And with that confusing reply, the Auror left Harry to his thoughts.


End file.
